If I Should Fall Behind
by karisma1again
Summary: A Slexie story that takes place in a world where Mark left when Derek and Addison told him to and never met the other Grey sister.
1. Brilliant Disguise

**_AN: _I know Meredith, Cristina, and Callie aren't the best of friends with Lexie. But for the purposes of this story, we're stretching it a little. Lexie doesn't have many friends; I don't really care to write Graziella, you know?**

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.**_

If I Should Fall Behind

Chapter One: Brilliant Disguise

_We stood at the alter, the gypsy swore our future was right_

"This," her breathing was still ragged, her throat raw so the words didn't have the force they deserved, "This is pathetic. Pathetic and…and ridiculous and trite." She stared intently at the women in front of her. Lips pressed together, her brows knitted in an expression of carefully contained misery. "And cruel," she finished in a whisper. "Mainly just cruel."

She'd even sprung for the veil. Her reflection mocked her and, unable to stand the sight of herself in a room nearly choking with mirrors, she ripped the headpiece off her head. Her scalp tingled with all the pins she'd dislodged.

_But maybe, baby, the gypsy lied_

Meredith stood in a corner, one arm wrapped around her slim waist, the other bent at the elbow as she gnawed on her fingernail. Cristina was sitting on a small stool, her back to the vanity. Izzie was pacing, her dress reflecting light with every step.

The double doors of the hotel burst open and Callie came in, her breathing heavy. "What is go—" She gave a slight jerk of her head, moving the fringe of her forehead. With her vision clear, she finally saw the scene before her.

Meredith pushed herself off the far wall to reach the other woman. She handed over a scrap of paper and Lexie turned away while Callie read.

"Maybe," Izzie began after Callie had finished, "Maybe it's a mistake."

Cristina shook her head, the elegant line of her neck exposed. "He's gone," she said, her voice uncharacteristically subdued.

Lexie turned to her, taking in the oyster sheen of her bridesmaid dress. Then she faced Meredith, the same color gleaming back at her. She closed her eyes and swayed.

Callie rushed to her first, helping her against the couch cushions, her dress billowing out to surround her. The thick material kept the other women at a distance, even as they sat next to her. For the moment, then, she was safe from the comfort and the reassuring pats.

"How?" she croaked. "How?"

"Rat bastard," Callie offered first.

"Spineless son of a bitch," Meredith added.

"Selfish asshole," Izzie muttered. She avoided Callie's eyes.

Only Cristina was quiet. So it was her Lexie looked at first when she finally opened her eyes. "How?" she asked again.

"Cruelty," was the answer.

_I want to know if it's you I don't trust_

Some time later, Lexie stood up, her posture firm, her balance unwavering. "Someone has to tell them all," she said.

Meredith cleared her throat. "Derek already did."

Lexie nodded slowly, an image of a checkmark filled her mind. That was one less thing to attend to. Her life had been full of lists lately. There had been the DJ, the caterer, the flowers, the minister…so many checks. But eventually they'd all been taken care of and all that was left was to live happily ever after.

Her chest tightened and she rode the wave of pain that seized her. She told herself to breathe through it so it'd eventually subsided. The realization that there would be more was one she tucked away.

They were all looking at her. Meredith, Cristina, Callie, Izzie. They were all waiting on tenterhooks; ready to give her whatever she needed the moment she asked for it. They were all, she realized, hoping to feel like they were helping, like they were useful. She didn't have the heart or the energy to tell them they were superfluous; all the formally dressed women in the world couldn't take away the fact she was a bride without a groom.

"I need a drink," she said finally.

Meredith nodded, bounding off her seat to head for the door. "I'll find the bartender."

Lexie shook her head. "No." Her throat was dry. "I need to get out of here."

It was Callie's turn to help. "Okay. Let's just get you changed and then we can—" She was cut off by laughter and Lexie soon realized the sound was coming from her.

"My clothes—my clothes are in George's car," she managed, her body lurching forward with her broken laughter. She let herself fall back against the cushions, her giggles catching. "He's taken everything," she said. The laughter died in her throat, leaving a lump the size of her worthless bouquet in its wake.

Cristina moved closer, her slim hands covering hers. It was such a random expression of concern, Lexie jerked away. Then she looked down at their hands folded together and realized Cristina was trying to ease her grip on her veil. She hadn't released the tulle since she'd pulled it off her head and her knuckles were white.

She pulled away from Cristina with a slight shake of her head. The other woman backed off immediately, nodding her understanding.

Meredith must have left because at some point she returned with a bottle of scotch. Izzie poured the amber liquid into five glasses. After they were all passed around, Lexie slapped the fanning dress down and looked at the other women.

It wasn't something she thought about a lot, but her erstwhile fiancé had gotten around for playing the underdog. She looked at Meredith, her perpetually sad eyes and willowy frame. At Callie, strong-willed and gorgeous. Finally, her eyes rested on Isobel—a model with legs taller than her entire body. Not to mention hair that could glow in the dark.

Christ, two of her bridesmaids had slept with her runaway groom. Some would say she'd been asking for this, if she'd gone ahead with it knowing what she knew.

"He's a douchebag, Lexie," Callie said, swirling the contents of her glass.

Lexie chugged hers, desperate to feel her limbs again. When had it gotten so damn cold?

The pearls woven in Izzie's golden hair glinted as she shook her head. "I can't believe he would do this. This isn't George."

Callie snorted. "So he can cheat, but he can't jilt?"

Izzie raised her eyes to the ceiling and remained quiet. Lifting the glass to her lips she drank deeply.

Lexie poured herself another drink, her hands shook and more liquid sloshed over the glass than into it. She snorted. "At least he married you."

Callie swallowed, shifting in her chair. "Well, the Elvis impersonator locked the doors."

A smile crept onto her bloodless lips. "Standoff. I got a classy wedding and you got a husband."

Callie shook her head. "You also got a nicer ring."

Izzie nodded. "You can actually see it." Then, as if regretting her words, she looked over at Callie. The dark-haired woman, however, didn't react; her attention was on Lexie. Izzie's posture relaxed.

Meredith sighed. "Where is he going?"

Lexie shrugged. Cristina answered, "The letter didn't say."

"What about his mom?"

Callie shook her head. "She's gone, too."

Cristina smiled grimly. "Good." She turned to Lexie. "The last thing you need is a mother right now."

She'd meant a mother in the same vein as Mama Burke or her own mother. Two seconds too late, she thought about Susan Grey. Lexie's face crumpled. "Damn," Cristina muttered.

Izzie stretched arm around Lexie's bare shoulders. Her skin was cool to the touch.

'_Cause I damn sure don't trust myself_

Half a bottle later, Lexie stood up, taking her glass with her. She tipped her head back and emptied its contents down her throat. Her dress rustling around her, she walked to the vanity and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. A streak of crimson stained her skin.

"He wasn't even that good in bed."

Silence permeated the room. Then Izzie gave a one-shouldered shrug. "She's got a point."

Callie glared at her. "You ruined my marriage for bad sex?"

Izzie glared back. "You're gay!"

Meredith rolled her eyes. "Not the point, guys." They turned their attention back on Lexie, who was massaging her hair out of its intricate twist.

Callie sighed. "He wasn't that great."

Izzie turned to her. "Did he do that pecking thing?" As if to demonstrate, she jerked her neck forward and back.

Callie stared at her before picking up her drink.

Meredith came forward, her arms crossed under her breasts. "Lexie," she started, "Let's get you home."

Lexie laughed. "Where the hell am I going to go?"

"You can stay with me and Derek."

Cristina stood then. "I really don't think she's going to want to shack up with the happy couple."

Meredith looked confused. "I—"

Callie nodded her agreement. "Together people suck."

Meredith divided a look between Callie and Cristina. "I'm just trying to—"

Cristina interrupted, "Trying to what? Understand? You can't."

"And you can?" Meredith shot back. The words were out before she could stop them. Then the room got quiet again.

Izzie's brown eyes widened. "George pulled a Burke," she said, somewhat in awe.

Cristina let out a low laugh. "He always was Burke's guy."

"Oh, God," Lexie moaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I have to go to work and see all those people."

Cristina shook her head. There were ways to survive this and there were ways that were sure to equate defeat. "Don't even go there."

Callie gave Lexie's upper arm a slight squeeze. "They'll get over it when something else happens."

"What is going to trump this?" Lexie asked of them.

Callie shrugged. "Huge trauma?"

Izzie offered, "Someone having an affair." When Callie looked at her once more, she added, "Oh, enough already!"

Meredith thought about it for a moment. "Ex-wives coming back."

Cristina snapped her fingers. "Illegitimate pregnancies."

Lexie turned her head in a half circle to look at each uncomfortable woman in the room. "Is one of you willing to get knocked up in the next two days?"

One by one, they all looked away. She sighed. "That's what I thought." After another drink, she was feeling less sick and more detached.

No-nonsense as ever, Cristina got to the point. "If they got over Burke, they'll get over this."

Lexie turned to her. "At least Burke showed up!"

Cristina's brow rose. "What's worse: a guy running or a guy taking one look at you and heading for the hills?"

No one answered.

Then Lexie looked up, her upper chest lifting above her white dress as she exhaled. "I need to get out of here."

Meredith said it when no one else would. "Joe's?"

Izzie gave her a quelling look. "Jesus, Meredith, she's not you. Getting drunk and sexing up some inappropriate guy isn't going to help."

Lexie shook her head, her hair a loose cloud now. "No, Joe's is perfect." Hitching up the layers of her wasted dress, she led the way out through the double doors. Bridal paraphernalia was still strewn around the room, each piece of frippery telling a story of how hectic her day had been. Getting ready had been a painstaking process. Perfection had been her goal and perfection wasn't easily achieved.

No, she thought, her lips twisting up in a smile that was all self-deprecation, it wasn't easy at all.

**AN: "Brilliant Disguise" is performed and written by Bruce Springsteen. **

**Also, I don't hate George. I used to love him. But the George now isn't the George I loved in S1, 2, and 3. He's kind of a ghost and one I can mold to do something not so George-ish.**

**Please Review! =)**


	2. Dancing in the Dark

_**AN: You guys are amazing. Thank you so much for your feedback to the end of Remembrance. I'm really grateful so many of you shared the ride with me. =) Also, thank you so much for taking such a liking to this new story! It's so much fun to write and I'm glad you're enjoying it thus far. I cannot WAIT until the 23rd! **_

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.**_

If I Should Fall Behind

Chapter Two: Dancing in the Dark

_I ain't nothing but tired, man, I'm just tired and bored with myself_

Meredith was the first to go. Four shots in and Derek had arrived, clad in a tailored suit, to collect her and leave. He gave her a sympathetic squeeze, his hand careful not to touch the pristine material of her wedding dress.

"Boo," Lexie called after them, reaching for the shot Joe had poured her some time ago and missing by a mile. Clearing her vision with a hard blink, she tried again and wrapped her fingers around the petite glass.

Cristina frowned and Derek led Meredith out, his jacket masking the shimmer of her bridesmaid dress. "She just doesn't have the stamina she used to," Cristina mused, finishing the rest of her cocktail through her straw. She fiddled with the ice for a moment, swirling it around the glass while she waited for Joe to bring her a another one.

Lexie clambered across the now vacant seat and plopped down next to Callie. The layers were cumbersome and she slapped them away as she sat. "I've been thinking," she announced. "I think I'd make a great lesbian."

Callie choked on her drink before setting it down, her manicured hands playing with twin straws. "Oh, yeah?" she finally managed.

Lexie stared at the other woman's hands, the darkly painted nail beds moving in silent rhythm. "Yes. I'm cute and good at talking and…" here her voice lowered in conspiring tones. "And I'm generous in bed. I don't just lie there." Lexie shook her head adamantly. "No, sir, I put in _work_."

Callie nodded. "Right. I'll-er—I'll put in a good word for you at the meetings."

Cristina rolled her eyes and turned away from the bar to survey the rest of the patrons. Her elbows rested on the counter as she stared. She called over her shoulder, "She doesn't have what it takes to be a lesbian. You need grit, Grey. Women can be bitches."

Lexie's huge eyes swung over to Callie, who nodded with obvious reluctance. The erstwhile bride sighed, her shoulders slumping at the failed plan. She perked up visibly when the next round arrived. Another shot of Patrón later, she picked up a clean cocktail napkin and perched it on her head. Balancing it, she turned to Callie.

"Look," she said, glee written all over her features. "I have a hat."

Callie stared back for a moment before downing the contents of her drink. She gestured to Joe for the check. "That's pretty."

_I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face_

Pleased, Lexie looked down at her lap. "I hate this dress." She snapped her fingers. "You know who loved this dress? George. George looooved this dress. That should have been the first sign: never let the groom see the dress."

Cristina sighed. "If they're gonna leave, they're gonna leave. Forget the dress."

Lexie shook her head. "I can't. it's too ugly." Inspiration struck. She turned to Callie, her face earnest. "You want it?"

"Er—no." Then, "Thanks though."

Lexie shrugged. Wiggling about, she wrangled with the zipper and before Callie could stop her, the bodice was loose and Lexie was pulling it down her hips. Leaving it in a white ball of lace on the empty stool next to her, Lexie focused her energy on her next drink.

As if it were the most natural thing in the world to sit around a bar drinking in a slip, she thanked a disturbed Joe. "You're so lucky you're gay." She toasted him before swallowing.

Joe's brow furrowed. Another hour and he could go home to Walter. "I've always thought so," he said slowly.

"I mean," she continued, "What's the point of having the legal _right_ to get married if the bastard doesn't show, right?"

Callie signed the receipt and handed the leather folder back to Joe. "Thanks. I have to run to the hospital, but I'll be back before you close."

Joe eyed Lexie warily. She was toying with the garter on her thigh and singing along with the juke box. "Are you sure she'll make it until then?"

Callie sighed. "I don't want to leave her, but the nurses have paged me three times already."

Cristina swung around. "I'll take her to our apartment. She shouldn't be alone tonight anyway."

Callie nodded, grabbing her bag. "Great. I'll see you there?"

Cristina smirked. "Say hi to Arizona for me."

"Rude," Callie muttered.

_There's a joke here somewhere and it's on me_

Cristina was in the middle of pursing her lips around her straw when Lexie peered at her, her brown gaze so intent it belied the alcohol swimming through her blood. "Are you ever afraid," she asked, "that you'll end up alone?"

When the older woman set her drink down without taking a sip and didn't answer for a long moment, Lexie knew she was thinking about Hunt. "No," Cristina said. "Even after Burke: no."

Lexie nodded. "That's good." She shrugged. "And there's always Meredith."

Cristina let out a short bark of laughter. "Yeah me with cereal and her with a chicken."

Lexie's brows knitted. "What?"

Cristina shook her head. "Nevermind." Spinning on her stool, she took her glass and cocktail napkin in one graceful hand. "I'm playing darts, you want in?"

"I may stab myself at this point." Lexie waved her off. "Go ahead."

Cristina eyed her warily. "Don't go anywhere, Three. I'm in no mood to organize a search party."

Lexie's chin lifted a notch. "I don't need a search party," she declared, her voice haughty. "I have Joe." One arm flailed up to gesture to the bartender drying glasses. "Don't I, Joe?"

"Until two, I'm all yours."

Lexie's eyes brightened with unshed tears. Pressing a hand against her bare upper chest, she sniffed. "That—that is so…" her voice broke. "Sweet, Joe. You're just so kind."

He gave her an odd look, moving across the bar to wipe down the counter. Drumming her manicured nails along the bar's lintel, she tried not to think about how she was going to get to sleep. Not tonight; she had a feeling that wouldn't be so difficult, what with the way her head was swimming. But there was always the pesky problem of sleeping alone the next night, and the next, when the novelty of the rejection wore off to others and she'd be expected to get over it, to fend for herself.

_There's something happening somewhere_

The bar's main door opened and a draft chilled her nearly bare back. She straightened, shivering a bit until the door closed and the goose bumps lining her skin dissipated.

When a man occupied the seat next to her discarded bridal wear and ordered a Scotch, she didn't bother looking up. However, the surprise in Joe's greeting piqued her curiosity.

"Mark?"

A slash cut across the man's mouth, but it could have been either a smile or a grimace. Lexie couldn't tell. "Joe," he said, his voice low. "How the hell have you been?"

Joe shrugged. "Can't complain. What about you? What brings you back?"

The man named Mark also shrugged, but it wasn't a casual movement so much as one meant to fend off questions. "Missed the weather," he quipped.

Joe slid him his drink. "Good to have you."

When Joe left, wringing his hands on a dishrag, Mark hunched over his glass and wrapped ten long fingers around its small proportions. Lexie watched him exhale once and then lift the glass to his mouth. In doing so, his blue eyes caught her staring unabashedly.

Though he didn't say anything, his brow rose and he held her stare even as he set his Scotch down. "Interesting dress," he finally said.

Lexie didn't take umbrage. "I have an uglier one," she said, finishing another shot with clean precision. She gestured to the ridiculously decorated stool next to her with one hand. "Would you like to see?"

Mark's eyes dipped down to the lace and frippery. "Ah, no. Maybe some other time."

Lexie shrugged her bare shoulders. "Your loss. It brings new meaning to the term heinous shit."

"I don't ever think I've met a bride who hated her wedding dress."

She laughed. "That's because you haven't seen _this_ dress."

Mark nodded, watching her shred a napkin and add neat strips to a growing pile. "Well," he said, lifting his glass to her, "Congratulations."

A snort escaped her and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Huge eyes looked at him over her small hand. Then she laughed, slapping the counter with her palm once.

"Are you okay?" he asked, more out of sarcasm than actual concern.

"You're not very bright, are you?"

He frowned. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, come on. You see a half-naked drunk woman with a balled up wedding gown and you think the entire day went off without a hitch?" She shook her head and tapped her temple. "Clearly, you're not the brightest crayon in the box."

"I—" he started.

She waved a dismissive hand that was meant to reassure. "Hey, no, it's okay. I'm sure you've got a lot of other things going for you." She gazed at him, trying to make her eyes focus. "You're pretty," she said matter-of-factly. "Maybe you could model underwear." Her eyes widened as if something had just occurred to her. "Hey! You could be that guy—you know, that guy on the wrapping—" Here her hands began gesturing wildly to nothing in particular—"of those three packs of underwear you get?"

He was quiet for a moment, rubbing his hand across his grizzly jaw. "Thank you?"

Her smile was serene. "No problem."

_Come on, baby, this laugh's on me_

They looked away from each other. He went back to his drink and she stared at the gleaming rows of the bottles behind the bar, her chin held up by her hand.

"I hope I didn't offend you," she blurted out, still staring at the bottles.

He looked over his shoulder before turning to her. "Me?"

She went on, "You know, with the "you're stupid" crack. I didn't mean to insult you."

"It's—ah, okay." He cleared his throat. "Fine, really."

"It's not you," she said, her voice breezy. "I'm probably just bitchy because I got jilted today."

He blinked. "Right." Though he didn't want to, his eyes ducked down to the discarded dress. "Well, that blows."

Her nose scrunched up as she looked at him. "Right?"

He sighed and took another swallow. "Unfortunately, that's what people do." He finished his drink and took out his wallet.

She waved at him. "Don't worry about it. I got it."

His hands stilled. "Excuse me?"

"There's a special today: Jilted brides drink free." She smiled, revealing a row of white teeth. "Besides, out of work underwear models should save their money."

He couldn't help the smile that tugged his lips. "Thanks," he said.

She didn't respond because she was too busy staring at him, her head cocked to the side as if she were sizing him up. "You're a stranger," she said.

"Yes," he agreed.

"So you're probably inappropriate."

There was no way to follow this conversation gracefully. So he asked yet again: "Excuse me?"

Not that she heeded his question. Standing up, her posture proud and only slightly unsteady, she faced him. Her slip barely reached her knees and the sheen of the material glowed in the dim bar. He had to look hard to see the thin straps holding up the silk.

_You can't start a fire without a spark_

"You want to get out of here?"

Despite being called inappropriate, the appropriate response would have been no. Rejected brides represented a vulnerability even he was loathe to take advantage of.

Then she shook her head back as she collected her dress like it was a stack of books and her cloud of dark hair fell across the smooth skin of her shoulders. In that small moment he realized two things: he'd had his own fair share of rejection recently and the way she looked tonight, all fractured poise and bold whimsy, _she'd_ be one taking advantage.

_**AN: Please review!**_

"_**Dancing in the Dark" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen. **_


	3. Human Touch

_**AN: This chapter is dedicated to **_Aragorns Arwen whose constructive criticism never fails to make me think, decipher, rewind and analyze. Thank you so much for taking the time to not only read, but engage in the text. =) I hope you'll continue to read this new story and tell me your thoughts.

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.**_

Chapter Three: Human Touch

_You and me, we were the pretenders_

By the time they'd stumbled into his hotel room, she was on the second verse of Joy to the World". He told himself it was a shame to stop her one-woman show so he didn't kiss her. Instead, he ushered her inside and closed the door behind them.

She took one look at her surroundings and rounded on him. "Did you pay for this hotel room?" she asked carefully, her eyes round. He could practically see her worry that she might cause offense or embarrassment.

He smiled. "No," he said honestly. "Work did." That was no lie; someone else had indeed paid for the digs. There were two great things about agreeing to be an expert witness: having your hourly fee matched as well as your lodging and travel expenses paid for.

She nodded and looked around once more. "Wow," she said, tossing her dress onto a nearby chair. "Maybe I should go into the underwear business."

He angled his chin in the direction of her slip. "I'd say you already had."

Lexie looked down and laughed. "Fair enough."

This was it. This was when the move was made. This was when the move was expected. He'd either touch her hair or her neck and then tilt his head down and she'd lean up and then neither of them would bother thinking until dawn. And yet, there was something infinitely satisfying in merely watching her.

Maybe, he thought with internal ridicule, he was growing up if he was finally learning the perks of delayed gratification.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked, heading for the minibar. It was an abrupt segue and he knew she'd expected him to kiss her when she blinked rapidly at the question.

She caught herself quickly. "I'd like several."

They laughed together before he tossed her a tiny bottle of tequila. He unscrewed the cap of another miniature bottle and they toasted each other across the room before drinking.

_So you've been broken and you've been hurt_

Half an hour later, she was holding the complimentary toiletries bag like a bouquet and walking, her feet pausing after each step with dramatic precision. She had donned her dress back on two minutes ago, but it hadn't zipped all the way and the sleeves kept falling down.

"See? And then George's niece was going to hold up this part right here and walk down." He caught the toiletries bag when she tossed it to him. Setting it down on the table next to him, he settled back into the arm chair. By this time, Lexie had twisted herself around, holding her own train in an endeavor to keep re-enacting the wedding that wasn't.

It would have all been disgustingly morbid and boring if she didn't look so damn animated. Her cheeks were flushed and she couldn't stop smiling. That was fascinating in and of itself, but she was funny to boot.

"I always wanted to have a flower girl, but George's niece—Gertie—don't get me started on the name—she kept eating the petals." She pulled a face. "I know, right? Apparently she thought they were candy." Rolling her eyes, she gestured with her hands far apart. "Gertie's a _big_ girl," she stage whispered and Mark choked on his Scotch as a laugh bubbled out of his chest.

Lexie dropped the train and attended to her droopy sleeves. "So after George _promised_ she wouldn't eat the dress, we nixed the petal idea."

"Along with the doves and the beach venue and the lavender and silver color motif," Mark drawled, sitting up in the chair as she drew closer.

"You've been listening!" she praised, her eyes glittering with unreserved admiration. The sleeves forgotten, she flopped down on the chaise, the dress rising around her like a soufflé.

"Did you get anything you actually wanted in this wedding?"

Lexie's face softened and her smile fell for a second. "Yeah," she whispered, looking past him to the door. "George."

He snorted. "O'Malley's a moron," he said and then shut up. She hadn't told him her intended's last name. He checked her face for any reaction, but she gave none. The woebegone bride, he'd learned about an hour ago, was of the unsuspecting sort.

She shook her head as if to clear it and clapped her hands. "So! Verdict: worst dress ever?" She took two fistfuls of material and gestured.

"Heinous," he concurred. "You would have been better off walking down in the aisle in the slip."

"Thank you!" Lexie exclaimed, pulling her arms free of the sagging sleeves and letting the dress's bodice fall to her waist. As if a thought just occurred to her, she got up, the dress pooling to her ankles in a shower that was strangely erotic. Before he could dwell on it, she was off, sprinting to the bathroom.

When she came back a moment later, it was with a hijacked roll of toilet paper. "We did this at my bachelorette party," she said, as if that explained everything.

He watched in awe as she breathlessly wound and twisted and folded the sheets of toilet paper into some sort of makeshift dress around her slip.

"Ta-da!" She struck a pose.

Because it seemed like the most natural thing to do when a woman showed off biodegradable clothes, he clapped. And then he was rewarded. She laughed so hard, she fell back onto the lounge, using bits of her perforated dress to wipe away her tears.

She worked more toilet paper in her hands. "My friend, Izzie, is ridiculously good at making flowers and headpieces out of this stuff," she said absently while she twisted.

His ears twitched at the familiar name. "Was she your bridesmaid?"

She nodded without looking up. "Yeah, one of them." Satisfied, she held the final product out to scrutinize it. "Not bad," she said.

Then she was next to him, the scent of her hair invading his space as she tucked the paper into the breast pocket of his button-down shirt. Her brows twisted as she concentrated on making it stand just so.

He let himself breathe her in once more before looking down at the toilet paper on his chest. "Thank you?" he asked.

"It's a flower…sort of," she explained, tilting her head to the side. She leaned in once more to fix it and he figured he'd delayed his gratification enough. The same thought must have occurred to her because her hands stilled near his heart and she lifted her eyes to his.

They started at each other for a while and he could make out the intricate details of the face he'd just met. Her nostrils flared slightly as she inhaled, her eyes slipping down to his mouth before jerking up again. Normally, he would have smiled at the give away, but, right then, he couldn't muster up the arrogance.

He told himself to kiss her; in his mind, he was already kissing her. Hell, he was already on top of her. His body knew what to do by choreographed practice; it knew he was already way behind schedule. But even as his body leaned forward, something else pulled back. Without even realizing it, he cleared his throat, the noise dispelling the moment, and thanked her again for the flower.

She swallowed and pulled back, reoccupying her place on the couch. He could read the confusion on her bare back, her muscles tight and lean beneath her skin.

_What you don't surrender, the world just strips away_

Awkwardness was easily overcome by raging blood alcohol levels. A while later, they were playing jacks with peanuts and a ping pong ball the concierge had miraculously found, all the while managing to stifle any urge to ask further questions.

"Okay," she guided. "Now bounce it and pick up five peanuts."

He obliged and held all six objects in his wide palm. Triumphant, he handed the white ball to her and leaned back in his chair.

"Get ready to suck it," she said, wiggling her fingers before bouncing the ball and snatching up six shells. "Woo!" she cheered, lifting her arms above her head.

He watched her with a critical eye. "You were a cheerleader," he said, the words practically an accusation.

She shifted. "I was valedictorian," she answered primly, straightening her slip.

"And a cheerleader," he insisted.

"I am a Harvard graduate," she shot back, her chin lifting a notch.

He grinned. "And a cheerleader."

She conceded a point. "I may have been Prom Queen." She shrugged a negligent shoulder.

He didn't buy the deflection. "Cheerleader Prom Queen, maybe."

"Fine!" she snapped. "I was a cheerleader, okay?"

He laughed. "No, not okay," he said.

She pulled a face. "Shut up and play."

"If you lose, you have to do a cheer," he said. He took the ball and easily picked up seven peanuts before catching the ball.

She snorted. "Right." During her turn, she managed to capture seven in her small hand, but not without obvious difficulty.

"No, I'm serious." He shook the ball in his hand like it was a die. "Some of that '2-4-6-8, who do we appreciate' stuff."

She laughed at him, holding her side. "I guess that answers the question of what year _you_ graduated: 1868, was it?"

He glared at her. "Are cheerleaders allowed to be snarky? Isn't that against the perky code or something?" He executed his turn and handed the ball back to her.

"Shut up."

She blew on the ball for luck before bouncing it on the table and trying her luck for eight peanuts. She came up with four and he let out a yelp of victory.

Scowling, she threw all four peanuts at him. "You cheat."

He gave her his open palms. "How?"

"I don't know yet."

He pointed to the space between the sitting area and the bed. "A deal's a deal. Show some spirit."

"What? No."

His face grew stern. "Don't be a sore loser."

"It was high school; I don't even remember our routines."

"Go."

"I'm tired."

His expression was of mock shock. "There is no such thing as a tired cheerleader." He pointed again. "Go."

She trudged up to the makeshift stage and faced him. She stared at the ceiling for a long while, her bare foot tapping. Then she looked at him, adjusting the strap of her slip. "This isn't old school," she warned. "So hold onto your hat, grandpa."

He rolled his eyes. She cleared her throat and stood with her feet apart, her arms locked. Truth be told, it wasn't like he remembered it. There were less cheesy chants that rhymed and more beats. She clapped, stomped and slapped everything from her thighs to the floor in rhythm. One high kick later, she had her back to him with her hands near the skirt of her slip. Stopping, she turned her head to him.

"That's when we'd lift, you know," she gestured. "And spell out EAGLES on our—you know," she said, smoothing down her hair.

"Asses?" he encouraged.

She gave him a suppressing look. "Undershorts."

He applauded thunderously. "Encore," he called out.

She glared once more and sat back down, her breathing erratic. "So what about you? Captain of the debate team?" Giving him a sweet smile, she began pleating the folds of her wedding dress with idle hands.

"Ha," he mocked. "But yes. And the math club."

Her jaw unhinged. "You were a mathlete?"

He stiffened. "Yes, Snob." His face grew smug. "And I played football."

Her brows furrowed. "You were a jock-nerd?"

Mark sniffed. "I don't subscribe to labels."

"You're an underwear-modeling mathlete," Lexie said, "I'll say you don't."

_Share a little of that human touch_

It was a new experience for Mark, sharing a bed without actually touching the woman next to him. They were both on their stomachs, their cheeks pressed against twin pillows as they talked.

"So how'd you meet?" He knew the answer to that already. That hospital was a bigger pick-up joint than bars after funerals.

"At work," she sighed, looking at him from across the pillow. "And we were roommates."

"And then?" he prompted.

"And then…I just fell in love." She shrugged as best she could.

"And he…."

"Well, he was surprised at first. And we did the whole awkward avoidance thing for a while. I moved out." She smiled. "But then," she breathed, "one day after my shift, he—he found me and kissed me." Her eyes gleamed in the dim light; it was clearly still a fond memory. Her fingers let go of the pillow long enough to brush against her lips.

"And then he proposed."

"Yes—well, no, not exactly." Her brow furrowed. "See, his mother came to visit and saw that we were living together and then she assumed…and George didn't say anything and _I_ didn't say anything and then…"

He stared at her, his head lifting. "Are you serious?"

She nodded, her face slightly shamed. "Okay, so it's not terribly romantic, but we—"

"Are you honestly surprised the guy didn't show?" Mark asked, the words rushed.

She sat up too. "Yes!" she shot back.

"Then you're an idiot."

"Thank you," she said bitterly, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and shifting off. "I appreciate the kind words, really I do."

"What were you thinking? Committing yourself to a guy like that?" His voice rose as he watched her shove her feet into her heels.

She stopped moving long enough to glare daggers at him. "What the hell are you getting so upset over? I was the one ditched today, remember?"

That shut him up. He stood up, walking to her in a matter of seconds. "You're right," he said. "I'm sorry. I think I'm angry _for_ you, not at you."

Wary, she gave him a sideways look. "That's sweet….in an I-don't-know-you sort of way."

He laughed. "It's late," he said. "Stay. Sleep."

She toed off her heels and dropped several inches in stature. Reaching only his shoulder, she walked back with him to the bed. On her stomach, with her knees bent and feet swinging behind her head, he could imagine her in a cheerleading uniform, talking on the phone after school.

It did something funny to his insides. A cross between a twinge of endearment and a pang of empathy, it bordered on admiration. He tried to shake free of it as they continued talking. Thinking about the girl she had been and how today must have been the complete antithesis of what she'd dreamt of was useless to him and her.

But the alien feeling wasn't a passing dalliance. It wasn't easily shaken. It stayed with him as he told her about the scar above his elbow and she showed him the one under her chin. It stayed long after she fell asleep, half her face buried in the hotel's pillow and behind her flung arm. It stayed even as he grew drowsy and his lids closed against the rising sun.

**AN: Please Review!**

"**Human Touch" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen**


	4. For You

_**Standard disclaimers apply and, despite due diligence, the inevitable mistakes are my fault.**_

Chapter Four: For You

_Barroom eyes shine vacancy, to see her you gotta look hard_

Lexie Grey didn't do hangovers. She prided herself on drinking equal parts water with her alcohol and never imbibing in excess. She never drank so much that she puked and she never, ever woke up the morning after with any malady mere coffee couldn't overcome.

So when she opened her eyes and immediately shut them again, her first thought was that sunlight had changed in the last twenty-four hours. It was not a welcoming, warm call to begin the day. No, no, someone had mutated it into a torture device with seering, laser-like qualities.

Her mouth felt like it hadn't met a toothbrush in about three months. Unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth, she garnered enough courage to open her eyes once more.

_Oh my God_, her brain screamed as she sat up. It took all her willpower to get to the bathroom she saw from her vantage point on the bed. She didn't even have the leftover resources to dwell on the fact that this was the first day of her alleged honeymoon. One thing at a time.

Foregoing the cup because it would waste time, she stuck her head under the faucet and let half the water run over her face and hair. The other half miraculously made it past her lips and appeased the tumbleweed lodged in her throat.

It wasn't the most dignified she'd ever been and when she finally lifted her head, even her reflection scorned her. Raking a hand through the wet, tangled strands of her hair, she rested a moment before scrounging around for a toothbrush. Scrubbing her mouth clean proved to be a trial; she had to be careful not overwhelm her tongue with the taste of toothpaste lest her gag reflex threaten to revolt.

When she finally spit the last of the foam out, she stayed under the tap a while longer. By some happy accident, her cheek brushed against the porcelain of the sink. Through a maze of discomfort, her nerves recognized relief. Pressing more of her face against the cold porcelain, she lowered herself to her knees.

The world stopped reeling when her forehead touched the surface. When her chin met the porcelain, she almost felt human. As her neck pressed against it, she could form coherent thoughts. Sighing her pleasure, she closed her eyes and let her body relax.

And that was how Mark found her five minutes later.

_You were not quite half so proud when I found you broken on the beach_

"Good morning," he said, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

She stood up so quickly her head hit the underside of the sink. Painful on a good day, it was excruciating when your brain was already protesting consciousness. Her mouth unhinged in a silent 'O' of mute pain.

He winced with her. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, her lips rolling inward as she massaged her wet head. "All yours," she whispered, gesturing to the bathroom. She hobbled past him and their shoulders brushed. She gave him a sideways look. "How are you functioning right now?" she asked, taking in his sleepy, yet entirely too coordinated, manner.

He shrugged. "I wasn't drunk last night."

"You weren't?" She squinted at him.

"No, I'm pretty sure you didn't leave any alcohol for anyone else in Seattle."

She tried to laugh, but it took too much brain power. She settled for a weak smile. "Did we…" she gestured to the air between their bodies.

He lifted one brow and looked at her, the gesture emanating arrogance. "Trust me, you'd remember if we had."

"Right." She looked outside the bathroom and immediately saw the rumpled bed. This was too surreal of a conversation to be having. She stood on the other side of the bathroom door. "I'll let you get to it."

He closed the door and she heard the tap running a few moments later. She needed a plan. She needed more water. She needed to get the hell out of there. Looking down, she wondered why in God's name she was in a slip.

Practically slapping her cheek, she rubbed her skin vigorously in an attempt to get jumpstarted. Her shoes were nowhere near each other; she had one in her hand and was extracting another from under the bed when the bathroom door opened. She looked up from her kneeling position, her slip barely covering her rear end, and saw him staring at her curiously, a toothbrush dangling out of the corner of his mouth.

She stood, a heel in each hand. "Just give me a second and I'll be out of here," she said, her words rushed. There was something so casual about the way he moved, she felt she was taking up his time.

He waved a dismissive hand. "I ordered breakfast. Stay."

She turned her head and caught sight of her wedding dress on the couch. God. George's mother had donated part of her own wedding gown for that dress. And now it was balled up in a corner of a stranger's hotel room. She knew a moment's guilt before she realized George had done much worse. His mother was lucky she hadn't peed on the damn thing.

But the thought still begged a question. Turning to the stranger, she angled her head. "I'm sorry, this is going to sound terrible, but you are….?"

He stepped forward, his hand outstretched. "Mark," he said.

She responded as if on automaton. "Lexie."

_Your strength is devastating in the face of all these odds_

Breakfast began as a silent affair.

She thought her body would reject the very sight of food right up until the room service lids came off. Then it became a fight between her fingers and teeth to see which could move faster.

Her teeth tore into a strip of bacon and she closed her eyes. "I don't think food has ever been this good," she said through a locked jaw.

He poured hot sauce near his eggs. "See? Aren't you glad you stayed?"

Her eyes opened. She'd stayed because halfway through her polite excuse as to why she had somewhere to be, someone to see she realized it was all bullshit. There was no place, no one.

And he knew it. Though she felt like crap, she didn't have amnesia. She remembered, albeit vaguely, the night spent with a stranger who knew more about her than any stranger had a right to know.

So she'd stayed for breakfast.

Remembering her manners after her third glass of orange juice, she reached for her napkin and then her purse. "You have to let me pay for this."

"Absolutely not." The words were so casual one could almost miss the vehemence behind them.

"No." She shook her head, reaching through the pockets of her wallet for some bills. "You let me invade your hotel room and spend the night. It's the least I can do."

"I already signed for it so you can put that away."

"Let me pay for half at least."

"It's nothing."

Daylight didn't lend the courage or the crassness to mention his job or his financial status. She kept quiet for a while, and decided to leave the money discreetly as she left.

'_Cause I've broken all your windows and I've rammed through all your doors_

"Thank you," she said after they'd demolished the breakfast cart. "For breakfast and for putting up with me last night."

"You were a pleasure to put up with."

Charm, she realized while shifting on her bare feet, was disturbing. She wasn't used to dealing with it. She found awkwardness endearing; fumbling, stuttering, that sort of thing. Mark didn't fumble or stutter. Which was fine, she figured, since she did it enough for the both of them.

"Right." She cleared her throat and focused on getting into her shoes without tumbling over. Once successful, she raised her face to meet his blue eyes. He was entirely too handsome to exist, she realized with a heaviness that bordered on resentment.

There didn't seem to be much else to say as she gathered her rumpled dress and made her way to the door. He followed, always the gentleman. "Thank you," she said, for lack of anything better with which to fill the silence. She immediately followed with, "I already said that," while her palm met her forehead.

"Yes," he simply agreed. Then, "Wait here."

When he came back, he handed her two twenties. "You left this in the bathroom," he said, his smile serene.

_Damn_. Mortified, she took them back. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice verging on desperate.

"You have no idea."

Apparently she didn't.

_But you let your blue walls get in the way of these facts_

"It was nice to meet you, Mark."

"What are you going to do?" he asked abruptly, ignoring her polite good-bye.

Here she was trying to employ tact and graciousness and here he was, as rude as nosy as you could get. The irony escaped her at the moment.

"Do when?" she played dumb.

"Today." He shrugged. "Tomorrow."

There was no time to be creative. She settled for honesty. "I guess today I'll figure out what to do about my apartment and my stuff. And tomorrow I'll go to work."

"Isn't it your honeymoon?" he asked, his body in between her and the front door.

It was the first mention of the jilting; they hadn't discussed it over breakfast. She could get offended, but, then again, she'd have to get used to it. Better to start growing the thick skin now. "Yeah." She looked down at her shoes; they were beautiful and silk and horribly scratched. "But I'm not going to Bermuda alone so…"

"Maybe not, but if you have the vacation time anyway…" He shrugged.

She smiled. "I think at this point I'll just be grateful for the distraction."

He tilted his chin up as he observed her. "So you like your job." It wasn't a question.

She thought about it. "It can suck, but yeah, I love it." She smiled at him, the gesture wide and genuine. "I'm sure it doesn't beat being a model," she teased, "but I can't think of doing anything else."

Lexie figured the next question would be what she did. She explicitly remembered not having that conversation the night before. He, however, threw her another curve ball.

"When can I see you again?" Still standing between her and the exit, he stared at her. Seeing as how he was fully dressed and she was wearing a slip that had seen too much in too little time, she felt all but naked.

"Oh—I—er," she stalled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, I—I just don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?"

Persistent, wasn't he? "I don't even know where to start," she said. "Maybe because I'm kind of coming out of a relationship? Or because we don't know each other? Or because one night stands don't turn into things?"

"We didn't have a one night stand," he corrected.

She could have happily strangled him. "Fine," she said through gritted teeth, "I think the first two are persuasive enough."

"People get to know each other all the time," he said and, for the first time, she realized just how monumentally arrogant he was. "Haven't you heard that expression? A stranger's just a friend you haven't met." He gave her a feral, exposing straight, even teeth.

"That," she said, annoyed. "Is a line employed by kidnappers."

He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He held a hand up. "Not a kidnapper Promise."

She moved past him to the door. "Goodbye, Mark."

"Meet me tomorrow night."

She sighed. "I really don't think that's a good idea."

"But going home with me last night was?"

Her brows rose. "What, you regret missing out on an easy lay? Because if I'm jilted, that means I'm vulnerable, right? And definitely not going to say no?"

He didn't even have the decency to take offense. "I wasn't the drunk one." He shrugged. "And if I'd tried, we would have definitely had sex last night." He paused. "But I didn't and we didn't and that should tell you something."

All it told her was that she lacked appeal to bridegrooms and strangers alike. Desperate to leave, she turned away. "Yeah, we probably would have." She stood in the hallway and faced him. "But now I'm sober and you had your chance and you missed it. So…" she pointed a finger at him and moved it around as she gestured to his body. "So you can just forget….that."

He leaned against the door, his arms crossed over his chest. Ankles crossed and looking faintly amused, he said, "And yet I'm still asking to see you tomorrow night. So what does that tell you?"

She looked at him dubiously. "You're gay?" she ventured.

His bark of laughter filled the hallway. "Try again."

She sighed, the fight whooshed out of her. "Listen," she tried, "I'm not a good place right now. My head? Just sheer insanity up here." She gestured to her temple with a finger. "I have a deadbeat groom, wedding presents to return, no place to live and about a million napkins with my name on them."

"Okay," he said.

"Okay?" she repeated. Then her shoulders relaxed as she took in his abrupt acquiescence. "Okay." Then she added, "Thank you."

"I'll see you around, Cheerleader," he said before closing the door.

It wasn't until she was outside the hotel in broad daylight wearing practically nothing that she realized his goodbye had been curiously open-ended. Especially in light of the fact they'd just agreed it was best not to see each other again.

She brushed away the thought as the concierge gave her a skeptical look. Mark had offered her clothes and though they were too large, they were clothes at least. Of course, she'd refused them. Borrowing clothes would have meant a link, a reason to keep in touch and prolong her warped version of a one-night stand.

She sighed and reached for her phone, which had been turned off. Even as she dialed, she could hear it beeping as various texts and voicemails sprang to life. Apparently reality had missed her while she'd been gone, and reality was nothing if not persistently demanding.

_Don't call for your surgeon, even he says it's too late_

_It's not your lungs this time, it's your heart that holds your fate_

**AN: Please Review!**

"**For You" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen**


	5. Hungry Heart

**AN: Sorry for the delay! Both my editor and I have been swamped with finals, but here's the next installment. Please let me know what you think! **

Chapter Five: Hungry Heart

_Like a river that don't know where it's flowing_

"Any word?" Callie poured the coffee as Cristina emerged from her bedroom, her unruly hair in disarray.

Cristina yawned. As she stretched, her shirt hitched up to reveal a taut abdomen. "What?"

"Your phone," Callie explained impatiently. "She didn't call me back."

Cristina shrugged and reached for one of the mugs. Callie glared at her and poured yet another cup for Arizona. It was steaming and ready by the time the blonde emerged, her face still sleepy.

"You're a godsend," she murmured when Callie handed her a mug. Wrapping her hands around its warmth, she sat on a stool and looked at the two women. "Any word?"

Cristina rolled her eyes. "You two spend way too much time together."

Callie tapped her nails against the counter. "Where could she have gone?"

Arizona shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe she just wanted to be by herself; I mean, that's one hell of a rough wedding day."

Callie shook her head, her bangs shifting with the motion. "She was plastered, but there's no way she would have just wandered off by herself." She turned to Cristina. "Did you try Meredith again?"

Cristina sighed out her tolerance. "She hasn't heard from her either. Lexie could have just gone back to her apartment."

"George-ville?" Callie snorted. "I don't think so." After a sip of coffee, she glared at Cristina. "Tell me again why you weren't watching her?"

Cristina bristled as she took a seat next to Arizona. Glaring back at Callie across the counter, she said, "I left her with Joe, okay?"

"Well, Joe doesn't remember her leaving." Callie sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Bailey's going to kill me—she frowns on losing doctors."

"Three is not lost, all right?" Cristina raked a hand through her thick hair. "She's just…misplaced." Reaching for the bag of bagels in front of her, she winced when Callie slapped her hand away. "Ow. Relax. I'm sure she'll find her way home again."

Arizona gaped at her. "She's not a puppy."

Cristina arched a brow. "You clearly don't know her very well."

_I took a wrong turn and I just kept going_

Callie's phone rang while Arizona was in the shower. Dropping the hairbrush she'd been using, she answered it, cutting off the second ring.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded.

"Oh, Lord," Lexie moaned. "Not so loud."

Callie didn't let up. "Why was your phone off? Where did you go? Jesus, you scared us half to death."

Lexie's voice was raspy as she laughed. "Who's we?"

Callie waved a hand around. "Me, Arizona…Cristina…us."

Lexie laughed dryly again and then groaned. Callie imagined she was holding her head. "I really doubt Cristina was rallying a search party."

"Never mind," Callie said. "Where are you?"

"I was at the Archfield, but I'm going home."

Callie's brow furrowed. "Why are you at—"

"Oh, my cab's here, I have to go," Lexie interrupted. "Listen, I'm sorry about last night. I'll see you later, okay?"

After she disconnected, Callie stared at her phone. Then she mentally kicked herself; she hadn't once offered sympathy or a sensitive shoulder. Truth be told, George's disappearance yesterday seemed like a surreal nightmare.

She tossed the phone onto the bedspread and turned to her reflection. She grimaced as she replayed her first words to Lexie. It was obvious what was wrong with her; everyone knew what was wrong with her and those who didn't would hear it by breakfast today.

_We fell in love, I knew it had to end_

Cristina was eating cereal out of the box when Callie left her room. After watching the young woman tilt her head back and drop a few pieces into her mouth, Callie took the milk out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter.

Cristina merely looked at the carton before resuming her meal.

"Lexie called," Callie said.

Cristina grunted some form of acknowledgment behind her crunching.

"She was at the Archfield. Apparently—" Callie cut herself off and smiled as Arizona left her room, her blonde hair damp and curling. "Hey."

Arizona smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "Hey back." Moving closer, she gave Callie a kiss on the cheek. "I'd better get going; the Chief said we're meeting with legal and the expert witness today."

Callie frowned. "I still can't believe the hospital's getting sued."

Arizona sighed. "They're parents." She shrugged. "They're allowed to be upset; their son's face is…"

Cristina snorted. "A train wreck?" she offered.

The two women turned to glare at her. Rolling her eyes, Callie reached for the untouched milk and opened the refrigerator door.

"Who'd they get to testify?" Callie asked, shuffling a few containers around to clear some space. She bent down further when she caught a glimpse of some suspect Chinese food. "Better not be that idiot Milliken from Mercy West."

Arizona wound a scarf around her neck and freed her hair. "Nah, they got some guy from New York—Mike Sloan."

Callie stood up so fast she bumped her head on the refrigerator shelf.

Cristina stopped mid-chew. "Mark Sloan?" she asked around the cereal.

The blonde shrugged. "Could be."

Callie rubbed her tender scalp. "Mark Sloan's in town?"

Cristina's brows crawled closer to her hairline. "And Lexie spent the night at the Archfield?"

They exchanged a look while Arizona divided her confusion between them. "Did I miss something?"

Callie shook her head. "No way. They don't even know each other."

Cristina snorted. "For Mark Sloan, that's a plus."

Arizona lifted a hand before speaking. "Someone want to fill me in?"

"Your expert and Ol' Jilted did the nasty last night."

"Nice. Real nice, Cristina."

Cristina shrugged and shoveled another handful of cereal into her mouth. "What?" she asked Callie. "It's probably the best thing she could have done. Everyone does Mark Sloan. It's practically a rite of passage."

Callie didn't like where this was headed. She gave her roommate a slight shake of her head, the movement almost imperceptible.

The warning unheeded, Cristina kept on going. "You passed that passage a couple times yourself."

Callie scowled. "Shut up, Yang."

Cristina looked at Arizona. "Oh. Sorry."

Callie turned to Arizona. "It was like a million years ago," she said by way of explanation. "I—"

Arizona smiled indulgently. "Calliope," she interrupted. "It's all right. You've slept with men, I've slept with men. It doesn't matter."

Callie smiled. "Yeah? That's—" Her brow furrowed. "Wait. How many men are we talking here?"

_We took what we had and we ripped it apart_

Lexie pushed the dress away from her the moment she crossed the threshold of the apartment she'd used to share as an engaged woman. The lace and tulle didn't make it very far and fell to the floor in an anti-climatic cloud. She didn't bother picking it up.

A sea of white and silver wrapping paper and bows confronted her. The super must have been so kind as to haul them up. Lexie made a mental note not to tip him that Christmas. Then she realized come Christmas she'd probably be living somewhere else.

A list. She would make a list, one carefully constructed ledger with names, presents and addresses. Then all the taunting ribbon would be gone and she could get back to the important stuff, like figuring out how to fast-forward through next two weeks.

She went toward the desk for pen and paper and made a sharp right after a few steps. Heading toward the bathroom, she decided a shower was a better idea.

Halfway to the bathroom, she stopped. She didn't want a shower and she didn't want a list. She wanted a drink. And then another one. It didn't matter that it was ten in the morning, what mattered was that everything had hurt a lot less last night. If she could just recreate it and live in it indefinitely, until it was safe to come out, she'd survive.

She thought of her mother and then her father and then what a lifetime's worth of proud felt like.

"No," she said to the empty apartment, an image of Thatcher still behind her eyelids. But it was still there: the need for one, teeny drink—just to tide her over—and it was terrifying.

She marched through bedroom with stiff resolution, her eyes averted from the unmade bed. In her determination not to look at the sheets, her eyes fell on the closet. There were so many naked hangers she first thought they'd been robbed. The thought, however, was just mental armor because it took only a moment to realize _her_ clothes were still hanging inside.

Only his were gone. She didn't know if he'd taken them before or after the ceremony that wasn't. All she knew was that despite everything that had happened, everything she'd said, she had still hoped he'd come back. She must have been hoping because if she'd already accepted what was now obvious, it wouldn't have hurt so damn badly. Right up until that moment, she'd harbored some wild fantasy that it had all been a crazy mistake, one he'd rectify any moment now by barging in and marrying her.

Turning her back to the open closet doors, she went into their bathroom and turned on the shower spray. While it heated, she looked at the sink counter. Most of the clutter was hers, it always had been. His toothbrush was still next to hers, his deodorant was in the medicine cabinet, right next to his aftershave. A platinum band sat in the nearly empty soapdish.

She picked up the metal circle with her thumb and index finger. It glinted under the bathroom lights. He'd never even given the ring to Ronny. Which meant he'd left their apartment that morning with no intention of ever going through with it. There had been no drama of a sudden epiphany as he stood in his finery in the church. His escape had been carefully planned; he'd neatly packed up his half of their life and left her behind.

Her engagement ring was exactly where she had left it, tucked into the bra beneath her slip. She pulled it out, the metal warm from her skin. She stared down at the twin bands in her palm for a long while, steam filling the room. It swirled around her body, making the slip cling to her damp skin. She stood still long after the steam dissipated and the water ran cold.

She looked up when the phone rang. As it continued ringing, she turned off the shower with her free hand. The other closed around the rings for a brief moment before dropping them both into the soapdish with tinkling finality.

Pulling open the medicine cabinet, she took out his aftershave and went back into the bedroom. The air was cool and she felt a chill. The phone was still ringing, but she was too tired to reach for it. Instead she crawled between the sheets, pulling the comforter around her. It was bright in the room and when she pressed her cheek against her pillow, George's empty pillow confronted her.

She didn't have a side of the bed anymore, she realized. She just had a bed. The thought made her physically ache and she pulled his pillow to her chest.

How the hell had she gotten here? A year ago she'd been twenty-four and single, then twenty-five and engaged. Now she'd never be single again. She'd just be the pitiful George O'Malley reject.

She closed her gritty eyes and inhaled. The linen smelled of powder and George's skin. Unscrewing the cap of his aftershave with blind eyes, she breathed him in. A few drops fell and snaked down her wrist. She sealed the bottle, but kept it close.

Light seeped through her lids and everything was a garish, painful red. The thought of getting up to close the blinds drained her remaining energy. Her arm reached out until her fingers met with the sleep mask she always kept on the nightstand. Pulling it over her head and eyes, she smelled her arm where his aftershave had landed and slept.

_Don't make no difference what nobody says_

_Ain't nobody like to be alone_

**AN: Please review!**

"**Hungry Heart" is performed and written by Bruce Springsteen**


	6. Life Itself

_**AN:**_** I really want to apologize for falling behind in my replies to your guys' reviews. I generally make it a point to respond to all of you since your thoughts and comments are what fuel me to keep writing, but the days seem to disappear during exam time. =/ Sorry! But I do appreciate all of you who read and write and comment, I really do. THANK YOU! =) **

Chapter Six: Life Itself

_I left the rest for the others, it was you and nothing else_

"Lexie?" The door opened in increments as Izzie took a tentative step inside. Getting the key from the super hadn't been difficult. The tall, blonde doctor angle worked wonders in a bind. "Are you home? You didn't pick up your phone so we got worried."

Izzie craned her neck to look into the empty kitchen and living room. "Lexie?" she called out again.

When she stood in the bedroom's doorway, the figure beneath the comforter was completely shrouded. "Lexie."

After waiting a moment for a response that never came, Izzie stepped into the room. The blinds had been drawn and it smelled of stale misery. Letting out a heavy sigh, she left the bedroom and retraced her steps to the kitchen.

Five minutes later, armed with a tray of soup and crackers, she sat at Lexie's bedside. "Lexie," she said, the name no longer tentative. Her voice now rang with authority. "Lexie, get up."

When there was still no answer, Izzie set down the tray and pulled back the comforter. Lexie's body was curled around a pillow, her fingers clenched around a red bottle. She stirred and rolled onto her back, one hand pushing up the sleep mask. She winced under the lamplight Izzie flicked on.

"Izzie," she said, her voice husky from disuse.

"It's Tuesday," Izzie said, her tone a mixture of sympathy and reproach. "You've been AWOL for two days."

"Oh," was all she could say.

Izzie reached for the trap and rested it across her thighs. "I made you some soup."

"No, thank you." Lexie adjusted herself against the pillows, clearly prepared to go back to sleep.

"You need to eat."

Lexie stopped then, her eyes finally meeting the other woman's. "For what?" she asked in a monotone, the words so vacant, Izzie could only stare back.

Taking the silence as agreement, Lexie gave the blonde her back and pulled the pillow flush against her curve of her body.

_Why are things that we treasure most slip away in time?_

They sent Callie next, armed with Twinkies and water bottles just in case Lexie felt like binging.

"Lexie," Callie sighed to the lump on the bed. "You have to get up."

The lump shifted and Callie could make out a mop of disheveled brown hair. Lexie's dull face emerged next, followed by her shoulders. One strap of her slip slid down her arm as she blinked her hollow eyes into focus.

"Drink this."

Obedient to a fault, Lexie took a few sips from the proffered bottle and gave it back. Considering her duty done, she moved to lie back down. Callie stopped her.

"No."

Lexie looked at her. "Why?"

The question was about a lot more than just sleeping. "I'm sorry," Callie finally said. "I'm so, so sorry."

Lexie's dry lips parted. "It hurts," she said simply.

Callie nodded. Abandonment through treachery, through wrongdoing was one thing. It gave answers, no matter how minimal or unsatisfactory. Abandonment without a word was a cancer; it ate, it consumed.

She had deserved answers from Erica. "I know."

"I'm just giving it time to stop."

Callie nodded again. "Okay," she whispered.

_Why do things that connect us slowly pull us apart?_

Tough love, they decided. So they sent Cristina.

Yanking back the covers, Cristina figured she'd coin it the Grey Method and stepped up onto the mattress. She shoved at Lexie with her foot and ankle, not letting up even when Lexie groaned out her protest.

"Enough is enough," Cristina said. Her toes hit the aftershave bottle. "What is that?"

Lexie hid it beneath her pillow. "Nothing," she mumbled. She tried to roll over and ignore the bulldozing, bossy Korean, but Cristina wouldn't be ignored.

"Seriously, you're getting bag lady crazy. You need to get up." She wrinkled her nose. "Plus you smell."

Lexie pushed her limp hair out of her eyes and adjusted her sleep mask. "You can't smell me outside. Go there."

Cristina scoffed. "Get up, Grey." She checked her watch. "We're wasting valuable cutting time here."

"I don't care."

"Of course you do. You're a surgeon, cutting is the only way you know up from down."

Lexie shook her head with clear disinterest. "I don't think I know up from down anymore."

Cristina stopped nudging and sat near the edge of the bed. Her scarf was bright green; it clashed with her Stanford sweater. "You will."

"How long?" Lexie asked. "How long until I feel like me again?"

Cristina shook her head. "I can't answer that. It depends."

"How long until _you_ felt normal?"

That particular brand of rejection was something you never fully shook off. You carried it with you into your next relationship, shared your baggage with the next person in line. So Cristina shook her fist with mock hope. "Any day now."

'_Til we fall away in our own darkness, stranger to our own hearts_

Never send a nester, a lesbian and a robot to do a job for a Grey sister. Meredith 's shift came next.

"Lexie," she said. "Come stay at the house."

Lexie didn't answer, instead pushing herself closer into the distorted pillow.

"You're starting to scare us."

"Cristina took you on her honeymoon."

Meredith frowned, but took talking as a good sign. "Yes."

Lexie's eyes were still closed. "Because she's your person."

"I—"

"George was my person, Meredith." Lexie buried her face back into the pillow. "George was my person and now he's gone and before I can get up, I need to lie to myself enough times until I can almost believe that I can survive without my person."

After a long while, Meredith said, "Dark and twisty happens, Lexie." Her sister didn't move, but Meredith knew she heard each word. "But so does bright and shiny."

Before leaving, she left a glass of water on the nightstand. "Drink it, okay?"

_I knew you were in trouble, anyone could tell_

After exchanging unsatisfactory notes, they figured their problem was division. A united front would be far more effective. That and if it came down to bodily force, extra manpower was always a plus.

By now they pushed past the door with practiced ease. They knew the way to the bedroom, they knew knocking and calling out tentative greetings was fruitless.

Izzie and Meredith each pulled back a corner of the comforter in unison. Cristina was ready. She threw the small bucket of water on Lexie's supine form. The brunette sprang to life immediately, her arms flying up to push back the sleep mask.

"What the—"

"This is an intervention," Callie said, her mouth a glossy grimace.

Meredith planted her hands on her hips. "Get up, you're taking a shower."

"I don't want a shower."

Cristina shook her head. "It's not about wanting. You _need_ a shower." Her face twisted into one of disgust. "You smell like BO."

Izzie sniffed delicately. "And Old Spice."

Cristina let out a derisive laugh. "Men still wear Old Spice?"

Lexie sniffed in an expression of haughty superiority. "George doesn't wear Old Spice. He wears—"

This time it was Callie who was ready and the second bucket of water drenched the remainder of Lexie's hair and slip.

"Jesus!" Lexie gasped out, goosebumps breaking out over her flesh.

"No more talking about George," Callie instructed.

"You need to get out of this bed and come to work," Meredith said.

"We have a case for you," Izzie added, smiling brightly. Her voice lowered to conspiring tones. "It's a whipple."

"Izzie!" Cristina hissed. "You can't give away the carrot when you're trying to dangle it."

Izzie shrugged. "What? It's not like she can actually get the surgery until she gets up."

Lexie groaned. "Go away," she said, reaching for the comforter. The women held it away and Lexie sighed.

"Okay, you need to get it together because all this?" Callie gestured around the dim room. "Way too Mrs. Havisham."

Cristina gave her roommate a blank look. "Who?"

Lexie sighed, wiping her face with her hand, which was equally wet. "Great Expectations," she said flatly. "Old woman stuck in her wedding day."

Callie shook her head at Cristina. "Pick up a book once in a while."

When Cristina opened her mouth to speak, Callie rushed on, "A _non-_medical book."

Izzie yanked the cord and the blinds shot up. Lexie winced and covered her eyes.

Callie reached for the pillow Lexie still clung to and came up with a red bottle. She squinted at it. "Have you been putting on George's cologne?"

Meredith let out a groan. "Oh, Lexie, ew."

Lexie snatched back the bottle. "It's not cologne, it's aftershave," she said defensively. "Now will you all please leave?"

"No." Izzie shook her head.

"Not a chance," Meredith said.

"The sooner you shower, the sooner we'll go back to the hospital," Callie offered. "Bailey's pissed as it is."

Lexie glared at each of them in turn before sighing heavily and swinging her legs over the bed. When the alien cool of wood touched her bare feet, she slowly pushed herself to a stand. "Fine." Bottle clutched in her palm, she made her way to the bathroom, Callie at her heels.

"One more thing," Cristina said as Lexie was about to shut the door. Grabbing the bottle, she poured it over the sink as Lexie watched. There was a split second when the scent was overpowering and then, just as quickly, it was gone and Cristina dunked the hollow bottle into the dustbin with a resounding bang.

Lexie stared at the basket before turning to the other woman. They maintained eye contact for a while before Lexie spoke, her face still vacant. "No wonder people think you're a bitch."

Cristina rolled her eyes and shut the door for Lexie. "Yeah, yeah, that'd mean a lot more coming from someone who didn't smell like a hobo with bad taste."

_Like you had no further use for, for life itself_

**AN: Please review!**

"**Life Itself" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen**


	7. Lonesome Day

**AN: =) You guys are consistently great; thank you.**

Chapter Seven: Lonesome Day

_Hell's brewin', dark sun's on the rise_

To their credit, they were organized. Lexie used her sponge to seal yet another envelope. She hadn't been left alone for more than a perfunctory two minutes since they'd dragged her out of bed. Their custody schedule was well-oiled to the point of OCD.

Izzie had her rework the entire kitchen. Lexie had scrubbed the tiles, she'd re-organized the dishware, she'd repapered the shelves. For her part, Izzie had supervised while eating cake.

Cristina had her suture every piece of fruit in the sympathy basket some well-meaning moron had sent her.

Callie and Meredith had divided the task of making sure she wrote, stamped and mailed thank-you notes with the returned presents. Cristina had suggested keeping them as consolation prizes; her own had apparently been invaluable. Lexie, however, figured that when you were faced with the looming prospect of homelessness, it was smarter to keep the possessions to a need-only basis.

It didn't take long for her guardians to need a new plan of action. Shuttling between the hospital and the dismal apartment was neither efficient nor convenient for any of them. After a brief meeting in her living room while she folded the rest of George's clothes for donation (another Izzie project), they decided she was ready to make her inevitable appearance at Seattle Grace.

Through the wall, Lexie heard as Callie spoke: "It'll do her good to get out of here anyway."

Meredith sighed. "Plus this schedule thing is getting way out of hand."

Izzie groaned. "It's color-coded, Meredith, what's so hard to understand? You're blue, I'm yellow, Callie's red, and Cristina's green."

Cristina's voice interjected. "I don't think she's ready. We'd have to watch her every minute."

In contrast to Cristina's blasé voice, Izzie's words were a deferential whisper. "We just won't give her surgeries at first."

Cristina snorted. "Yeah, right, like giving Annie over there a ten-blade was ever an option. She'd probably use it on her wrists."

"Cristina!" Izzie admonished.

"What? We were all thinking it."

Callie spoke next. "Seriously, are you ever nice to anyone?"

_Once I thought I knew, everything I needed to know about you_

When they told her the itinerary, Lexie didn't say anything, instead turning to go back into the bedroom to change. She didn't say much these days; she didn't need to. She'd learned earlier her custodians were happy so long as her hands kept moving. They were subscribers to the old "idle hands" philosophy.

So she moved her hands in an ongoing endeavor to keep them happy and away. She moved them to brush her washed hair and pull on clothes that weren't sweats. She moved them to put a few things into her brown bag.

The color-coded system they'd created melded into a united front as soon as they walked toward the double doors of Seattle Grace. Callie and Izzie, Lexie guessed because of their daunting height, lead the pack. She was ensconced in the middle while her sister and Cristina flanked either side.

As clever as the ploy was, it was imperfect. Though several people walked on by, a resident Lexie's year stopped and saw her through the cracks of the human blockade.

"Lexie?" he called. "Lexie, I heard—"

Cristina stepped out. "No," was all she said.

The resident's brow furrowed as he looked at Cristina and then Lexie. He tried to step around Cristina, but she anticipated the move and blocked him yet again. "But I wanted to—"

Cristina shook her head. "I'll take a message. Scurry along now." After shooing him, he took the hint and turned away.

Olivia was behind the nurse's station and her head tilted sympathetically. Lexie's gut clenched in preparation. "Lexie," she clucked her tongue. "I am so sor—"

By some unspoken agreement, it was Izzie's turn. "Olivia, you must be so excited to get to assist Dr. Halpert with his nerve transplant patient!"

Olivia's face slackened. "What?" she asked, her voice high. "I'm not—he didn't say—"

Her brown eyes widened as she feigned concern to the tee. "Then you'd better go," she said anxiously. "Like now. Right now."

Olivia took off down the hall, her flowered scrub top disappearing into a sea of blue-clad employees.

Izzie watched her with obvious satisfaction. As a teenager, she'd bagged the lead in her high school's production of Anne of Green Gables. Of course, that was before Hannah. The drama teacher hadn't exactly jumped at the idea of an Anne with an expanding waistline and Izzie had joined the "special" classes for "special" girls who didn't know when to keep their knees closed.

Which, in retrospect, was fine. Red hair irritated her anyway.

_But I didn't really know that much_

They had her stocking supply closets. That way she couldn't harm anyone, even herself. Unless, Lexie thought, she suffocated herself with linen. Then she thought of her first apartment with George, and how she'd made a tablecloth out of a package identical to the one she was holding.

Her arm froze in the air and she stood there for a moment, thinking of their first kiss. Well, it had been to her. He hadn't recalled it later when she'd mentioned it.

"That was nothing," he'd said, laughing in that gentle way George did. He'd smiled indulgently and leaned in to kiss her. "That's a real kiss."

Lexie blinked and finished stocking the closet. Idle hands, she reminded herself and left to find the next closet.

_This storm will blow through, by and by_

Callie watched as Lexie moved through the corridor, her gait noticeably slower than those milling around her. Arms hugging supplies to her chest, hair washed but un-styled, she looked like one of the walking wounded.

Alex frowned next to her. "What's with Lexiepedia?"

Callie rolled her eyes. "She got dumped, Alex. On her wedding day."

Alex bit into an apple with a distinct crunch. "Wasn't that like last week? The zombie thing's only valid for about two days. Three tops."

Callie wrinkled her nose at him. "Izzie's a lucky, lucky woman," she said dryly.

He grinned through his apple. Taking up a few charts, he moved away. "I know."

"Who's Lexipedia?" someone else asked, taking Alex's vacated spot.

Callie looked up from her chart and smiled. "Well, well, look at what the cat dragged in."

Mark smiled broadly, his teeth glinting. "More like what the incredibly expensive legal counsel retained in."

"I heard," Callie said. "How're tricks?"

Mark shrugged. "Can't complain." He repeated his earlier question. "Who's Lexipedia?"

Callie pointed to Lexie's retreating back. "But I gather you already know her."

After taking in her back, he turned to Callie, his smile disarming. "I'm a popular guy, Torres." He angled his body toward her, his voice teasing. "Everyone knows me."

Callie let out a derisive harrumph. "Don't even think about it, Sloan. I'm into girls."

To his credit, Mark didn't even blink. His smile in place, he drawled, "So am I."

Callie sighed and jerked her head in the direction of where they'd last seen Lexie. "She's fragile, okay? So stick to nurses who know the score."

There was no faux moment of playing oblivious; it was clear Callie knew where Lexie had spent her wedding night.

Mark crossed his arms over his chest, his suit jacket stretching over his shoulders. "Not that it's any of your business, Indigo Girl, but I didn't sleep with her."

Callie scoffed. "Right. And I'm considering going gynie."

"I don't think you're giving her enough credit." Mark shrugged one shoulder with false negligence. "Look at you: clearly being sans O'Malley has done wonders for you."

A smile broke over her face as she thought. "I was an idio—wait a minute, how do you know she was marrying George?"

Mark gave her a withering stare. "I told you—we just talked."

Letting out a low whistle, she gave him an sweeping look with a flick of her lashes. "Well, well, would you look at that? I'm gay, you have morals, will wonders never cease?"

Mark tapped his files against the counter. "Here's hoping."

_Deceit and betrayal's a bitter fruit_

"Whatever happened with you and O'Malley anyway?" he asked much later, setting his cafeteria tray next to Callie's.

As far as greetings went, it was sorely lacking, which Callie let him know with a lift of one arched brow. Uncapping her water bottle, she shrugged. "He slept with Stevens."

Mark whistled and loosened the knot of his tie. He wasn't due back to the deposition for another two hours. "Rough."

"Yeah."

"The man's got one hell of a track record. Does every woman in this hospital have bad taste?"

Callie smiled sweetly. "They've all slept with you, haven't they?"

Mark smiled back mockingly before unwrapping his sandwich. "Don't take it out on me just because you miss the penis, Torres."

She choked on her water and glared at him. "Why are you sitting here again?"

"We're friends. Or we were."

She gave him an odd look. "No. No, we screwed around. There's a difference."

He sighed. "Well, you're gay, so screwing's out of the question. You wanna be my friend or not?"

Callie was quiet for a moment before spearing a tomato with her fork. "So how's Addison?"

Mark bristled. "Fine." He waited a beat before adding, "Why do you ask?"

Callie chewed in the side of her mouth. "You guys left at the same time and everyone knows about… " Where she would have mentioned the affair, she trailed off and merely shrugged. "I figured you were together."

"We were." He cleared his throat. "But not anymore."

She nodded sagely. "Ah, well that explains the impromptu trip to Seattle."

"I'm here to be deposed for a potential lawsuit."

"Riiiight," Callie drawled. "Come on, you can tell me." She smiled. "That's what friends do."

Mark glared at her and took a bite of his sandwich to keep from answering. Her eyes focused on something behind him and her smile died. "Shit. Lexie's alone." She scooted her chair back, fully prepared to stand when she saw someone behind the younger woman. Then she sat back down in relief and picked up her fork. "Nevermind, Meredith's with her."

Mark twisted in his chair to see his once-friend's girlfriend putting random items on Lexie's tray while the other girl just moved along step-by-step, her movements all but catatonic.

"Is she not allowed to be alone?" he asked when he turned to face Callie again.

She rolled her eyes heavenward and stabbed a piece of lettuce. "You have no idea," she said. "Girl's been Rainman ever since George peaced out."

Mark frowned. "Like I said, you're not giving her enough credit, she seemed fine a few nights ago."

Callie gave him a strange look. "It took four of us to get her out of bed today. She is _not_ fine."

Skepticism furrowed his brow and he turned in his chair once again to look at Meredith and Lexie in line. Another hospital worker joined the queue behind Lexie and she straightened, her eyes finally focusing. Turning, she faced the stranger and leaned closer to him, her eyes closing as she sniffed.

The stranger drew back, clearly confused.

Cristina emerged, her face a scowl. "Are you wearing Old Spice?" she demanded of the man, her words more of an accusation than a question.

The man stammered out an answer with an accompanying nod. Cristina sighed her frustration. "Didn't we talk about this?" She shook her head. "You know what? Go, just go."

The stranger obeyed and left the line, leaving Lexie looking after him. Cristina took her by the shoulders and gave her a jolt.

Callie sighed and closed her water bottle. "See?" she said. "She's a freakin' mess."

_Better ask questions before you shoot_

A few hours later, he found her in an exam room, her gloved hands assessing the damage done to a leg. "So the Peds surgeon, eh?" he goaded, his grin wide.

"Jesus!" Callie jumped in surprise and whirled around. Her posture relaxed when she saw who it was. "You have got to learn a better way to start conversations."

"Don't change the subject," he said, pulling up a chair across from the unconscious patient. "Montana Robbins."

"Arizona," Callie scowled.

"Whatever," he shrugged. "Cute."

"I'm glad I have your approval," she said wryly.

He spread his arms wide. "That's what I'm here for."

Callie lifted a brow. "Really? Sure it's not to outrun Addison?"

His smile vanished. "Don't," he warned.

"Oh, come on, Mark," she prodded. "Clearly something's still going on there. You didn't even sleep with Lexie that night, when you so could have." Her eyes gave him a knowing look. "And you don't think that might have something to do with your feelings for Addison?"

He shook his head. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he muttered. "Not sleeping with Lexie has nothing to do with Addison. They're as separate as you can get." As soon as it was out, he realized it was a loaded statement, with more meanings than one.

Callie pressed on, snapping her gloves off and discarding them in the nearby bin. "Lexie Grey's no dog. If you couldn't get it up for her, clearly you—"

He held up a hand. "Lexie who? Lexie Grey?" he repeated, completely ignoring the jab at his sexual prowess.

Callie smirked. "You don't even know her name?" Shaking her head, she added, "Talked all night, my ass."

"She's related to Meredith?" he continued, as if she hadn't spoken.

"Sisters. Well—half," she amended. "Why?"

_A little revenge and this too shall pass_

_This too shall pass, darling_

**AN: Please review!**

"**Lonesome Day" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen. Okay, so in all fairness to the Boss, this—and most of his other songs—are about more than relationships. They're layered, but I'm using them for a specific purpose so please don't think I'm limited? =)**


	8. Thunder Road

**AN: We have to celebrate the fact that: 1) the FINALE is near! And 2) I am officially so beyond DONE with law school. =) woot! **

**I am off to NYC (where I will see Springsteen perform!) so I won't be updating for a few days, but I promise to be back. In honor of the Boss man, this chapter's title is the track he opened with when I saw him live in '08 (legendary). **

**Oo and I almost forgot: this chapter is dedicated to Poroto. =) Happy reading **_**and**_** listening, my friend.**

Chapter Eight: Thunder Road

_You can hide 'neath the covers and study your pain_

When Mark saw him across the infamous bridge of Seattle Grace, he wondered if absolution needed time and distance to cultivate. By the time their eyes met and they walked toward middle ground, his insides gnawed with the grim possibility that even those two ingredients might never be enough.

Derek's carefully styled hair was shorter than Mark remembered. It also contained more silver, but then, Mark thought ruefully, so did his own. Derek's eyes, eternally kind and placid blue, had more lines around the corners. But then again, so did his own.

"I figured the rain chased you away for good," Derek said as they met near the balustrade. By tacit agreement, they both faced out, their forearms leaning against the ledge, instead of looking at each other.

Not the rain, Mark thought dryly. Instead, he shrugged. "Can't seem to stay away."

"How've you been?"

"Good." Mark nodded, his fingers locking and then dividing. "You? How's Meredith?"

"Good. Good." Derek nodded as well and silence enveloped them. Mark was about to look at his watch and invent an excuse to leave when Derek pushed himself upright and faced him. Squinting at a spot above his head, Derek asked, "Did you maybe want to get a drink? If you're done here, that is."

Mark's mouth parted as he took a moment to digest that. Then his eyes rounded in amusement and his posture relaxed. Stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets, he rocked back on his heels. "You missed me."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

Mark shook his head, the skin near his eyes crinkling as he smiled broadly. "You did. You actually missed me."

"Do you want a drink or not?"

Mark clapped the shorter man on the back once as he turned to stand next to him. "Hell, yes."

_Make crosses from your lovers, throw roses in the rain_

It took two rounds of single malt Scotches for Derek to finally ask.

"How's Addison?"

Mark smiled grimly, setting down his glass. "About time," he mused.

Derek shelled a peanut, but didn't bother eating it. "Sam told me you guys moved in together."

"We did."

Derek lifted a dark brow. "And?" he prodded.

"And then I proposed."

Derek's hands stilled halfway through the process of shelling yet another nut. He let out a low whistle and then resumed his methodical cracking. "Congratulations."

The kicker was Mark could tell he meant it. But to be sure, like some self-deprecating beggar seeking validation, he asked, "Yeah?" even as he hated himself for caring.

Derek met his eyes. "Yeah," he said. "If it could all be for something…" he shrugged, "Then maybe it worked out the best way it could have."

Mark turned back to his drink. "Maybe," he echoed.

Derek smiled. "So am I your best man?"

Mark laughed. "If there was going to be a wedding, there's no one I'd rather ask."

Brow furrowed, Derek paused a moment. "She didn't say yes?"

He let out a hollow laugh and finished his drink. Derek signaled for two more. "She said yes," Mark said. "At first." He shrugged. "And then one day she told me she couldn't marry someone she didn't love."

Derek winced. "Ouch."

"Yeah."

"Jesus, I'm sorry."

Mark laughed again, the sound husky and bitter. "No, you're right: it worked out the best way it could have. She never wanted me and I never deserved her."

Chin to his shoulder, Derek leaned in for a moment, his words frank. "Did you cheat?"

Mark shook his head and answered honestly. "No. I was desperate not to give her an excuse to leave." His eyes lifted to the dim bar ceiling. "Turns out: she didn't need one."

Derek took a swallow. "People rarely do."

They drank in silence for a long while. "What are you doing tonight?" Derek asked as he paid the tab over Mark's objections.

"Room service and a movie."

"Come over for dinner."

Mark lifted a sardonic brow. "Are you hitting on me?"

Derek signed the receipt and smiled at Joe. Facial muscles changing at the drop of a dime, he gave Mark a withering look. "You should be so lucky."

_Waste your summer praying in vain for a savior_

Izzie sighed. "We can't let her go back to that apartment. She'll just regress."

Meredith opened her arms in a beseeching gesture. "I've been trying to get to her to stay over and she won't. What do I do? Bind and gag her?"

"She wouldn't put up much of a fight," Cristina offered, staring over the nurse's station to where Lexie was seated, pencil loose in her hand. She'd been working on the same chart for over an hour, her expression catatonic. "Lexie!" she barked and the girl straightened in her seat immediately, her wide eyes lowering to read the forms yet again.

Izzie chewed on her lower lip. "We just don't give her a choice." Marching up to the station, Izzie straightened her shoulders, adding to already daunting height. "Lexie, you're staying at Meredith's tonight."

Lexie stood up and thrust the chart forward. "I finished Mr. Erikson's post-op; can I go?"

Izzie took the chart and watched as Lexie moved around the station and made an onerous path to the nearest on-call room.

She exchanged a look with Meredith. When Meredith just stood there, her shoulders lifting helplessly, Izzie's mouth tightened and she jerked her head in Lexie's direction. Meredith shook her head and Izzie nodded furtively.

After a silent battle of wills, Meredith let out a sigh of disgust and went toward the on-call room. Her steps were quicker than Lexie's lethargic ones and she was able to sandwich herself in between her sister and the door.

"Where ya going?" she asked, striving for a casual amiableness that she realized too late didn't suit her. Her smile was starting to hurt her cheeks.

"I'm tired, Meredith," Lexie said and her eyes closed briefly. "I'm going to lie down."

There was something in the drowsy quality of her voice, the way her sister said her name that made Meredith's smile drop. "But you can't," she said with forced cheer. She guided Lexie away from the door. "You have to fix Steve's mistakes on my pre-op patients. He's an idiot and if I don't have them in by five, Bailey's going to kick my ass."

Lexie sighed, but let herself be steered. As Meredith stacked any and all charts she could find in her malleable arms, Lexie blinked in an effort to stay alert. Coffee, she decided a moment later, the charts tucked in the space between her arm and waist.

It was arbitrary, fortuitous really, that she looked down as she crossed the hospital's bridge. Normally she would have looked out the huge windows into the hazy evening of Seattle. There was no reason to gaze over the railing lining the other side of the bridge. So when she did lower her eyes to the waiting families and workers milling about downstairs, it was pure happenstance that she immediately locked eyes with the stranger she'd met what seemed like forever ago.

Her fingers slackened on the charts, but she pressed them closer to her body. Her eyes must have broadcasted her confusion, but he merely smiled up at her, his tall frame relaxed. She looked around, bewildered, but her feet had stopped and her eyes quickly found his again.

He was still looking at her; his eyes taking in everything from her scrubs to her loose hair to her baggy lab coat. She blinked once, very hard, to make sure he wasn't some side effect of depression, exhaustion or both.

When she opened her eyes, he was still there, his amusement radiating off of him like body heat. She wanted to say something, but between the distance and her throat closing, it was impossible. And then Callie was there, oblivious to the staring contest she'd interrupted, guiding her to the end of the bridge with a helpful smile. Depositing her near the beds where she could sit and get some work done, Callie asked if she needed anything.

Coffee forgotten and suddenly, terribly awake, Lexie shook her head.

_Show a little faith, there's magic in the night_

Lexie stood in front of the mirror, her damp hair raked back off her forehead. An appearance at dinner had been non-negotiable, despite pleading her exhaustion. Pulling open one of Meredith's drawers, her hands first landed on a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of shorts labeled DARTMOUTH across the back.

She pulled them on with the same indifference she'd employed while washing her hair. Halfway through the process, she'd realized she'd used Meredith's shampoo and Derek's conditioner and, as a result, she now smelled like a schizophrenic cross between Irish Spring and lavender.

The grateful way Derek jumped up from the dining table when he saw her told her her shower had been timed. Probably just in case she did something stupid like trying to drown herself under the spray. He looked at her, dividing his relieved smile between her and the clock on the wall. She couldn't blame him; coming up to track her down under Meredith's orders would have been nothing short of awkward.

In some odd way, she felt badly for him. He'd always been good to her; he'd gone out of his way to not make her feel like a moron for hitting on him. He'd listened her to initial fears about having the Meredith Grey as a hateful half-sister. And what did he get for his trouble? Unwanted, hermit-like relatives invading the home he wanted to create with his girlfriend.

Her pity caused her to initiate conversation, no matter how banal. "Meredith's still at the store?"

He nodded. "Yeah." He smiled. "I'm pretty sure she's looking for basil in the frozen section."

"Don't kid yourself, all she's coming back with is booze."

Derek's brows rose. "Whoa there, was that a joke?" He pretended to look at his watch. "And way ahead of schedule. I'm impressed, Grey."

Lexie tried, but couldn't quite conjure up a smile. "Well, I did skip the third grade."

After a moment, his face grew somber. "Lexie," he started and she knew with a sinking feeling that sympathy was coming her way. "I guarantee you he did you a favor."

Lexie's eyes closed involuntary as if to ward off the words. Her body swayed. The doorbell saved her from having to say or hear anything more.

"I'll get it," she said quickly, moving past him. There was no time to wonder why Meredith didn't have her keys. She opened the door, the night air hitting her bare thighs.

To his credit, he looked as surprised as she felt. They stared at each other on opposite sides of the door, their faces comical expressions of mirrored shock. His recovery was faster than hers and his brows rose in recognition when he saw Derek behind her.

"Hey," Derek said, taking the door from Lexie's boneless fingers.

Mark crossed the threshold, wine bottle in hand. Passing it off to Derek, he shrugged out of his jacket while Lexie watched him with unabashed fascination.

"Lexie, Mark," Derek offered. "Lexie's Meredith's sister."

Mark smiled, the motion curling the corners of his mouth. Lexie's gut dropped. "Pleasure," he said, sticking his hand out.

With Derek watching, she licked her dry lips and forced her hand to meet his. She only managed to lift it a few inches, but it was quickly swallowed within the warmth of his larger one. As Derek turned to take the wine into the kitchen, she tried to snatch her hand back, but he kept it prisoner a moment longer than necessary.

She glared so hard her eyes hurt. Even after he released her palm, it thrummed with his heat. She flexed her fingers a few times and followed Derek into the kitchen.

_Well, the night's busting open _

_These two lanes will take us anywhere_

**AN: Please review! **


	9. Secret Garden

**AN: I'm awful, I know. I'm so sorry this chapter is so long in coming; Bar review sucks majorly. Almost as much as the Slexie bits we got in the finale. I don't mind Slexie drama, or fighting, or trouble in paradise…but COME ON. That was just contrived to point of lameness. **

**In any case, hope you guys enjoy this chapter! **

Chapter Nine: Secret Garden

_She'll let you in her house…if the words you say are right_

There was no quarter.

When she tried to excuse herself to change by telling Derek she didn't know they were having company, he waved a dismissive hand. Apparently, Mark was so ingratiated, he could hardly be considered formal company.

So she grimaced and tried again, this time under the guise of setting the table. As she stood up to retreat to the kitchen, the cad offered to help her. After her adamant refusal, which probably seemed perfunctory to Derek's ears, he insisted and followed her.

Lexie gathered plates and made it a point not to look at him, much less give him instructions. He did well enough on his own, however, and stood opposite the table, placing silverware with a relaxed ease that infuriated her.

There was no time or objectivity to realize the anger made her more alert than she had been in days. Instead, she just slammed another plate down and couldn't resist glaring at him.

"You're not an underwear model," she finally said, the words reproachful.

He lifted his head to look at her across the dining table. Shrugging with an arrogance that told her he knew exactly where he stood with the female sex, he said: "Sorry to disappoint."

"You lied to me."

He shook his head. "You made an assumption."

Fury coated her veins. She thought of how she'd tried to sneak him the money to pay for breakfast. How she'd expressed her wonderment that he could afford a suite at the Archfield.

Mortification fueled her fire. "And instead of correcting me, you just decided to have a laugh over it," she seethed and then darted a look toward the doorway lest Derek overhear. When she spoke again, her voice was lower. "I thought you were a starving model." Her eyes rounded with renewed betrayal. "I bought you a drink!" she accused.

The fine darkness of his brows rose. "I offered to make it up to you with dinner."

She glared harder. A thrumming pulse formed under her left eyelid. "I don't want dinner," she hissed.

"A drink to call it even," he amended.

She ignored the suggestion. "How do you and Derek even know each other?"

"We went to school together." The words' offhand prickled her.

"High school." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

Something unspoken made her press. "College."

"Yes."

Her eyes narrowed. "Med school," she upped the ante, her voice practically belligerent, as if daring him to agree.

"Yes."

"You're a _doctor_?" she all but yelled.

This time it was Mark who looked at the doorway with caution. "A little."

"A little?" she repeated with unmitigated venom. "That's rich." Her pulse fluttered with rage. "Don't tell me you're a neurosurgeon."

He bristled. "Plastics."

She gaped at him. "You're a plastic surgeon?" Her voice grew high, but she was beyond any self-awareness. How he must have laughed at the money she'd left in his bathroom. Horrified, her incredulity begat unreasonableness. She gave him the evil eye. "I want my money back," she declared, her chin lifting.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

Palm out, her chin rose so high it was practically parallel to the ceiling. Lofty as all get out, she explained, "For the drink. I want my money."

He stared at her and then her hand and then back at her face. Setting down the remaining wine glasses, he reached an arm behind him to pull out his wallet. He flipped through the pockets and pulled out a twenty. "That about cover it?" he asked, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

Her hand pulled away as he moved the bill closer to her. This was entirely too ridiculous to be happening. She didn't want his money; she didn't want anything to do with him. Rubbing her forehead, she moved away from the table toward the drawers. She gave him her back as she searched for a corkscrew for the wine.

"Nice shorts," he commented.

_She'll let you into the parts of herself that'll bring you down_

Through the ordeal that was dinner, Lexie moved her meal around her plate in an endeavor to make it look like she'd eaten. It may have fooled Meredith, but it didn't fly with Mark. He looked at her with knowing calm; it made her want to eat just to spite him.

She feigned interest as Derek told her how he knew Mark, what Mark did. She murmured at appropriate times so as to keep up the pretense she was hearing the information for the first time.

It wasn't until Mark's last visit to Seattle Grace came up that her interest was genuinely piqued.

"You worked at Seattle Grace?" she asked despite herself, her eyes lifting to meet his immediately. The instantaneous contact, of course, meant he'd already been looking at her, but that realization was for another place, another time.

"Temporarily," he amended. It was clear he hoped to steer the conversation elsewhere. Reaching for a bowl, he offered the table more potatoes before serving himself.

"Why'd you leave?" Lexie asked, manners forgotten. That was the perk of being jilted: it gave one _carte blanche_ to say anything.

He shrugged. "It was time to move on," he said vaguely.

Derek dove in to help. "That and the rain," he joked. "It could get to anybody."

She wasn't so easily diverted. "But you're back now."

'Temporarily," he repeated.

Lexie nodded. "Right." It would do well to remember that. The infuriating man and the impossible situation were all transient. There was no need to look across at him with burning shame in reminder of all she'd bared to him. It would have been less invasive if she'd just slept with him. Instead, she'd told him things she hadn't shared with anyone.

She'd _cheered_ in front of him for God's sake.

At that particularly mortifying thought, she cringed and hid her reaction behind her water glass.

When Meredith stood up to get the dessert she'd picked up from the store, Lexie was quick to offer her assistance.

"You seem…" her sister said as she opened the refrigerator door. "…better."

Lexie thought about telling her about how she'd really met Mark. It'd take a hell of a lot longer than the time it took to retrieve dessert. Instead she said, "I think coming here was a good idea."

Meredith smiled her relief. "I'm glad you're out of bed, Lexie."

Her concern was so genuine, Lexie felt a pang of guilt for not being totally honest. She wasn't good at secrets, never had been. "Me too."

_She'll let you in her heart, if you got a hammer and a vise_

Lexie let the remaining three diners do most of the chatting over coffee and dessert. She sipped the rest of her wine until the last fork clanged down. Then she stood up, plate in hand.

"I'll get the dishes," she said, already reaching for Meredith's plate.

Derek protested and she could have happily killed him.

She smiled stiffly and took the plates anyway. "You cooked, it's the least I can do."

Mark also stood and she stared at him as he took his plate and Derek's. "It's the least we can do," he echoed.

"No," Lexie said, the word drawing the attention of the seated couple. Backtracking quickly, she added, "You're a guest."

Mark's brow rose. "And you are…?" Derek and Meredith's heads swung toward him.

She took umbrage. "I used to live here," she said, her voice bordering on competitive childishness. Well, she _had_, for the two awful weeks it had taken for George to get his head out of his ass and come after her. Of course, she thought with a fleeting pang, she hadn't known what awful felt like back then.

Mark had given up the staring contest and was already giving her his back as he walked into the kitchen. Ignoring her sister and Derek, Lexie rushed after him, plates in hand.

_And her eyes will say she's got a secret garden_

"What was that?" Derek said, his head done following the ping-pong match. He rubbed his neck.

Meredith watched the now empty doorway. "He wants her."

Derek laughed and then cut himself off when he realized she was serious. "You've got to be kidding me."

Meredith looked at him. "You've known Mark since you were kids; when has he ever offered to do the dishes?"

Derek grew somber and looked at the empty doorway as well. "Damn," he swore softly. Then he sighed.

"Lexie can't deal with Mark going all manwhore on her."

Derek stiffened. "He wouldn't; he won't."

When Meredith's only answer was a disbelieving look, he continued. "He's going through a pretty rough time himself." He waited a moment and then told her what he knew she'd extract out of him eventually. "Addison left him."

Meredith's face didn't change but her eyes lowered. "Oh."

"Yeah," Derek echoed. "Oh." He exhaled. "So give the guy a break."

"I will." She waited a beat. "So long as he stays away from my sister."

Derek rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "First off all, he's not some recently sprung convict. Secondly, I don't know if _you_ know this, but Lexie's an adult."

"Maybe, but she doesn't know him, she doesn't know how he is."

Derek's eyes pinpointed into blue lasers. "And how is he?"

Meredith shrugged. "Kind of slutty."

Derek opened his mouth and then shut it.

Meredith added, "Lexie's fragile right now, you know that."

"And he's not?"

Meredith shook her head. "Mark Sloan will bounce back the same way he always has: by getting laid." She kissed him soundly before finishing, "But not with Lexie."

Derek laughed and kept her close. "I'll talk to him if you talk to her."

"Deal."

_You've gone a million miles, how far'd you get?_

For all his lip service to helping, he stood there will she loaded the dishwasher with vicious movements. She could feel his eyes on her as she rinsed and the realization did nothing for her blood pressure. Her anger was unprecedented, it was as inexplicable as it was consuming.

Truth be told, he was right, he hadn't outright lied to her. Granted, he shouldn't have let it get as far as it had, but it wasn't as if he'd taken advantage of her. He'd been perfectly nice, so far as strangers went. All in all, she had no reason to be so disturbingly furious.

As if reading her mind, he said calmly, "You get that it's not me you're angry with, right?"

The truth was not something she was keen on hearing. "You don't say?" she muttered, racking plates with a resounding clatter.

"No," he went on as if oblivious to her sarcasm. "You're projecting."

She glared at him over her shoulder. "I thought you were a surgeon, not a shrink."

"I am." He grinned and popped a grape from the fruit bowl into his mouth. "That's why there's no charge."

Letting out a noise of disgust because she couldn't think of any quip to throw back, she turned away. Only problem was she had run out of dishes. She dried her hands on a nearby towel and rested her back against the sink. Crossing her arms over her chest, she met his gaze.

"Are you going to tell Meredith?" he asked abruptly, reaching for another grape.

There was no need to ask him to clarify. "Are you going to tell Derek?" she countered.

He chewed slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. The movements of his jaw were strangely fascinating. "Haven't decided yet."

Lexie shrugged. "Well, there's not much to tell, is there?"

He avoided that verbal pitfall, but rounded the island to stand in front of her, his hips leaning back against the granite. With both their arms crossed, they looked like adversaries sizing each other up before a match. It was borderline ridiculous, borderline necessary.

"Of all people," he said, his smile turning into a grimace. "You had to be Meredith Grey's sister."

There was something about that sentence that rubbed her the wrong way. The fight to earn that title, especially from Meredith's own lips, had been a long battle and one that she wasn't entirely sure she'd won most days. Hearing it fall from his mouth with dismissive condescension irritated her. She'd already dealt with the legacy the Grey name carried at Seattle Grace; she didn't feel up to a sequel.

For the first time, she was the one to wedge their relationship apart. "Half-sister," she corrected stiffly. "Different mothers."

He nodded and sized her up. "How old are you?"

The fine hair of her eyebrows furrowed at the question. "Twenty-five."

"Ah," he said. "The younger Grey sister."

"We—I—have a younger sister. Molly." She didn't know why she was telling him all this; not only was it irrelevant, it was none of his damn business.

She didn't notice him draw closer, maybe because his eyes had darkened with interest at her words, until he was sharing the space she occupied in front of the sink.

Gripping the towel she still held, she angled away from him, giving them both room. He stood a head over her and, as she had to tilt her head back, she wished for shoes.

Peering down at the crown of her head, he mused, "You're little."

Everything the man said sounded like an insult. "Five-six is not little," she said primly.

"I didn't say it I didn't like it."

Her spine straightened. "This is ridiculous." She inhaled to catch her equilibrium and immediately wished she hadn't. The scent of lemon and soap was unequivocally not George and not Old Spice and yet she felt it in the back of her throat and low in her abdomen. She told herself to breath through her mouth and get the hell upstairs.

"I do," he said, his smile back. "Like it, that is." Squinting at her, his chin lifted as he surveyed her. "Little suits you."

Her head shook slightly, as if questioning the relevance. "That's…great." She cleared her throat as he drew nearer, one arm resting against the counter near her own. "Listen, I—er…"

He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "You're cute; prickly, but cute."

Her face taut, she added, "Don't forget jilted."

"I remember." He frowned. "I hear today's your first day out of bed."

It was the way he said bed, a cross between a caress and an invitation that shut her up. She looked up at his chin, not daring to go any higher. Or lower. They stayed in a fixed tableau, the proximity stifling as they breathed.

_She'll let you come just far enough so you know she's really there_

"Little Grey," his voice fairly rumbled near her ear and she wasn't sure if it was the wine or whatever scent he used, but her head swam. He repeated the words, as if trying them out. Apparently they were to his liking because the third time he said them, the words brought him even closer.

For all his heady proximity, he was painstakingly careful not touch her. Not even their clothes brushed. She felt the hairs near her forehead stir as he spoke. The slightest sway on her part and his mouth would brush her temple. All she had to do was lean into him. She swallowed her dry throat, aware it was decision time.

And then he took the decision out of her hands by closing in, their bodies flush for the briefest of moments while he reached behind her. She closed her eyes in self-deprecation. By the time he moved away from her, his chest no longer against her arm, the heat from her cheeks had dissipated.

"You left the tap on," he said, his voice smiling even if his lips were polite enough not to.

"Thank you." Her voice was as thick as her tongue. Dropping the towel on the counter, she left the kitchen, praying he wasn't reading her ass again.

_Where everything you want _

_Where everything you need, will always stay a million miles away_

**AN: Please review!**

**"Secret Garden" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen.**


	10. What Love Can Do

**AN: So what I had originally planed for this chapter took forever to progress, so, alas, I'm splitting it into two parts so it's more manageable. =) It sets the stage, the pay off will be later. I promise!**

Chapter Ten: What Love Can Do

_Now the remedies you've taken are all in vain_

He unclipped the microphone from his lapel the moment the attorney confirmed they were done. The stenographer stopped typing and both sides of the table stood to shake hands. Mark turned to the hospital's lawyer, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

"Thanks again for coming all this way." The attorney shuffled through some papers before stuffing them into his briefcase.

Mark smiled. "Don't be, it was on you."

After laughing, the other man checked his watch. "So we're working on summary judgment, but failing that, I'm pretty sure we'll settle."

"And if you don't?"

The lawyer inhaled. "Then I'll be calling you back for trial."

As they walked out together, Mark's hand was already loosening the knot near his throat. Richard found them almost immediately, his voice rushed as he greeted them.

"I'm glad I caught you," he sad to Mark. "Can I borrow you for a consult?"

Mark checked his watch. "I don't know, Chief, my flight's in a couple hours."

Richard caught his gaze and held it. "It's important," he said.

Mark narrowed his eyes. "You didn't mess up another kid's face, did you?"

The attorney coughed. "You do know that you're _our_ witness, right?" Shaking his head, he broke left and went down the corridor alone.

Still smiling, Mark turned to Richard.

"Well?" the older man pressed.

Looking down at his watch one last time, Mark groaned. "Lead the way." Richard's tense mouth broke into a smile. "But," he warned. "If I miss my flight, I'm gonna be a pain in your ass."

_There's a soul sitting sad and blue_

Somewhere Mark's flight was pre-boarding. The flight, however, was the last thing on his mind. Hunched toward the hospital's computer, his brows furrowed deeper as he examined the animated anatomy before him.

Richard leaned against the desk, his lab coat parting as he crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you think?"

"I think this woman is lucky to be alive and a hole in her neck is the least of her worries."

Richard sighed. "She's nineteen, Sloan. She can't walk around with a tube in her for the rest of her life."

Mark shook his head. "I don't know what you want me to say. She was in respiratory distress and you performed a tracheotomy. I would have made the same call."

"I want you to fix that hole."

Mark stared at man who had been his Chief for a brief while once upon a time. Then his face broke into a smile and he let out a short laugh. Then another one. His third chuckle was truncated when he saw his humor wasn't shared. "Wha—are you—" He looked back at the screen and finally settled on: "That's not even possible." Shaking his head, he flipped through the patient's history. "Four doctors have tried to dilate her windpipe; it's just too small." He held up the chart and shook it for emphasis.

Richard seemed unfazed by these facts. "_You_ haven't tried," he said simply.

_When the bed you lie on is nails and rust_

"She tried to kill herself with pesticides?"

"Apparently. And then he left her."

Lexie heard the whisper of the interns and, for one crazy moment, thought the rumors about her had escalated to preposterous levels. Then she saw the patient chart in front of them and realized that the gossip mill had moved on, at least temporarily.

The thought, however, brought no relief or comfort, just pity for the new object of scrutiny. Walking behind them, she snatched up the chart. Technically, they were Ryan's interns, but fear from various sources wouldn't hurt them.

True to form, they scattered and she filled one of the vacant chairs. Picking up an untouched apple, she polished it and took a bite. She wasn't allowed patients, but reading never hurt anyone.

So she did. For the next twenty minutes, Lexie absorbed and memorized information about the chemicals the nineteen-year old girl swallowed after fighting with her husband, the coma she fell into right after, and the tube that was now keeping her alive, but alienating her ingrate of a husband.

Gathering the chart under her arm, she stood to go back inside the hospital. On her way out, she avoided the eyes and whispers. If she looked clear above everyone's head it meant she didn't have to actually see clusters of people leaning in to discuss exactly which of her flaws sent George running.

After she tossed her apple core toward a trashcan, it hit the edge with a satisfying thump before bouncing inside. A group of second year residents near the trashcan jumped at the sound, their small circle of conversation broken. They stared at her and, for a brief moment, Lexie broke her rule and met their gazes dead-on. Surprisingly, each of them looked away first, their attentions captured by their food, their trays, a tree, the sky.

Then she walked away.

_And the love you've given turned to ashes and dust_

Despite the rays of light filtering in through the small window, the room was dim. Courtesy compelled Lexie to clear her throat and wait a beat before pulling back the curtain.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Dr. Grey." It was an odd comfort to realize she could still smile. "Or Lexie."

The greeting she received was raspy and only partially comprehendible, but Lexie smiled throughout, nodding her understanding. She pulled up a chair, her eyes never leaving the dark brown ones of her patient. "You don't have to talk; I'm just going to sit here, is that all right?"

After a moment, then was a hesitant nod and Lexie lowered herself onto the chair. The intermittent beeps of monitors and machines had become a soundtrack she no longer regarded as noise. It was an ignorance that came with time rather than practice. As they remained in each other's silence, Lexie knew the girl had acquired the same desensitization. It spoke of a person who'd spent far too long in a hospital bed; it was depressing.

At some point, the girl fell asleep, her breathing even and steady due to the pipe projecting from her smooth throat. Lexie stayed in the chair, her chin cupped in her palm as she kept her vigil.

When the curtain opened again, she rose to her feet. When she saw Mark, her shoulders fell, the relaxed action making her wonder whom she had expected to see.

"She's asleep," she said, somewhat unnecessarily.

Mark nodded and they both stepped on the other side of the curtain.

Lexie looked up at him. "Is your deposition done?" she asked, taking in his wrinkled suit.

He nodded and looked at the closed curtain. "The Chief asked me to stay a while longer."

Lexie frowned. "For this case?"

He bristled at her tone. "Is that a problem?"

She reminded herself of her manners and backtracked. "No, of course not. I just—I thought you were a plastic surgeon."

"I'm also an ENT," he said. His eyes fell to the breast pocket of her lab coat. "Dr. Grey," he added.

Lexie crossed her arms over the chest, effectively covering her badge. "Are you going to operate?"

"Well, I'd like to talk to her first," he spoke slowly, as if talking to a child.

Lexie blinked. "Right. That makes sense."

Mark moved to take a step forward. Lexie remained where she was, in between him and the curtain. He stopped, giving her a curious look before moving to the side. Lexie shadowed him, blocking his path.

"She's sleeping," she gave by way of explanation.

Puzzlement narrowed his eyes. "I don't think she'll mind waking up for this." He walked around her, their shoulders clipping for a small moment.

_When the hope you've gathered drifted to the wind_

Her confusion needed no words. Eyes wide and terrified, she shook her head in an expression of mute bewilderment.

To his credit, he was gentle. "I don't want to make you any promises, but if you consent to the surgery, I think there's a chance we can remove the tracheotomy tube."

Her fingers fluttered to her neck at his words. When her lips parted to make out a few words, Lexie rushed to her aid. "What about her voice?" she asked.

Mark's eyes landed on her for a second before going back to the patient. "If we're successful, you should be able to regain speech relatively quickly."

The girl's smile was tremulous as her eyes misted over. She leaned back against the pillows, relief evident in her posture. Lexie watched as she rubbed her thumb along the ridge of her wedding band.

"But there's some risk," she blurted out.

Mark's glare reached Lexie the same time as the girl's puzzlement. She straighted in the bed, her anxiety returning. "There is," she insisted to Mark. "Right?"

Mark cleared his throat, tucking a chart under his arm. "With any surgery there's risk," he began. "But it's true that with us operating so close to your voice box, there's a chance you could lose all vocal chord function."

She was crying now, her tears as silent as the rest of her.

Mark turned his attention back to Lexie. "Dr. Grey," he gritted out. "Could I see you in hall?"

_We can't stop this train, but let me show you what love can do_

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Lexie was adamant. "She had a right to know all the facts."

"I'm going to ignore the implication that I lie to patients and get right to it: whatever problem you have with me stays with me. Leave my patients out of it."

She glared back at him. "This has nothing to do with you." She pointed to the room next to him. "She's going to risk permanent damage just for a chance to get her husband back."

He frowned down at her. "Excuse me?"

"Her husband left. When he found out she'd probably have the tube forever. He just up and left her." Lexie's hands were shaking and she shoved them into the pockets of her lab coat before he could notice. "She shouldn't go through with the surgery just to get him to come back."

Mark blew out his breath. "No," he agreed. "She should get the surgery so she has a shot at a great life without the bastard."

Lexie looked past his shoulder, anger tightening her words. "She could be worse off than before."

His brow furrowed and he crossed his arms over his chest. Peering down at her, he asked, "Why are you so opposed to her getting her life back?"

Lexie took umbrage. She blinked and stepped back. "I'm not," she said. "I'm not," she repeated, when he let out a noise of derision. "I want what's best for my patient. She's not considering about what's best for _her_ right now."

"But you—_you_ know what's best for her." Sarcasm dripped from each word and she bit her tongue.

"No," she answered patiently, her jaw clenched. "But I do know she's young and not thinking clearly and may regret her decision."

"She's an adult, Grey," he said, beginning to walk backward away from her. "And my job is to give my patients what they want, not to hop on my imaginary soapbox and use my three-dollar _Cosmo_ psych degree to make decisions for them."

"I'm not—" she started.

He interrupted, his smile soothing the severity of his earlier words. "And maybe if you stopped being so damn prickly, I could tell you you're scrubbing in." Then he winked. With that, he turned and left her in the hallway.

_Darlin', I can't stop the rain, or turn your black sky blue_

_But let me show you what love can do_

**AN: Please review! **

"**What Love Can Do" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen.**


	11. Backstreets

**AN: This chapter wrote itself pretty hard and fast. I kind of found myself being angry at things I didn't even think were even relevant, but I think that's because this particular song by Springsteen is…well, angry to say the least. Though many interpret the song to be a betrayal between friends, I used it in this chapter to speak of betrayal in general. **

**I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Though tumultuous, I think it creates a lot of meat between the characters. =) Do let me know what you think!**

Chapter Eleven: Backstreets

_Hiding on the backstreets, with a love so hard and filled with defeat_

She gave the surgery to Graziella.

Part of her knew she was here to learn and, quite frankly, her career was all she at this point. Sabotaging it over a surgery that was happening whether her moral compass was on board or not was beyond stubborn; it was just plain stupid.

But the other part of Lexie could already see the Chief's skeptical face when Mark dropped her name for the surgery. So she gave Graziella the chart and told her to book an OR.

Then she took a seat in the gallery and watched as Mark held out his palm for the scalpel. Posed over the drape sheet, he paused for a moment, his eyes flickering up to meet hers. There was no moment of searching; he had known exactly where she sat. The loops over his eyes made it hard to discern his gaze, what he was thinking, if he was condemning her or just curious.

She was the first to break contact. Ryan offered her some chips and she turned to shake her head no. When she looked back down to the OR, Mark had already started.

_At night, sometimes it seemed you could hear the whole damn city crying_

Hours later, she was the first to invade the dim space of the room. She took care not to wake the girl as she sat down with her paperwork. Lexie's shift had ended an hour ago, but she'd told Meredith she wouldn't be home for dinner.

Movement came from the bed. Lexie stood, setting her pen aside as she walked to the bedside.

"Hey," she whispered, taking the girl's hand. "No, don't try to talk. Maybe tomorrow." Lexie smiled. "The surgery went perfectly. Dr. Sloan was able to remove the tube and close the incision."

She was rewarded with a drowsy smile. Her lips parted to speak and Lexie once again shushed her. "You can tell me tomorrow," Lexie said gently, giving the hand in hers a small squeeze.

_Trying to learn how to walk like the heroes we thought we had to be_

The next morning Lexie jogged down the hallway while flipping her stethoscope around her neck. She freed her hair and wound it up in a loose bun before entering the room.

"Hello—" her cheery greeting was truncated when she saw Mark already in the room. Smile frozen, she cleared her throat and didn't take any more steps, hesitant about coming closer.

"Morning, Dr. Grey," he said, glancing at her briefly before turning his attention back to their patient.

"Dr. Sloan," she said stiffly. "I just—"

"Came to check up on my patient?"

Lexie swallowed. "I was monitoring her vitals last night so I though I'd stop by."

Mark raised a brow. "Funny," he mused. "I thought Graziella was the resident on this case." He made a notation on the chart. "I seem to remember her in the OR yesterday."

Lexie narrowed her eyes at him before turning to meet the rather curious eyes of the girl in the bed. "How is she?"

"Ask her yourself." He grinned.

"Sore, but good," the girl whispered. Beaming, her smile morphed her features. "Better than good."

Lexie's lips pressed together in an effort to remain professional. But her smile was irrepressible. She sucked in a breath. "That's a nice voice you got there," she finally said, her voice husky.

Then the girl laughed and Lexie felt her eyes moisten. Blinking rapidly, she turned to leave when she heard her speak again. "Have there been any calls for me?"

Mark cleared his throat. "Ah—no, I don't think so. But we can check with the front desk to be sure."

"He'll be here today; I know it."

Lexie exhaled slowly, forcing her spine to relax. Then she kept walking. She wondered if she ever had sounded like that; disturbingly pathetically optimistic about a lover's return. Had it been obvious to everyone but her?

_And after all this time, to find we're just like all the rest_

Once she left the room, she went to the nurse's station to get her next assignment. Before he could even speak, Lexie knew what the young man waiting for assistance would ask.

"Hello," he said, taking in her scrubs. "I was wondering if you could tell me where—"

"Your wife is?" she filled in, her tone so antagonistic, she could barely recognize it.

His eyes blinked twice before he nodded his assent. "I heard they removed the tube—is that true?" Sincere hope lined each angle of his face and he looked so eager to have an undamaged wife, she clenched her hands to keep from physically striking him.

"She's _alive_," Lexie snapped. "Just—" she shrugged, the gesture filled with caustic casualness. "By the way. In case you were, you know, wondering."

His brow furrowed at the anger she wasn't even bothering to mask. "Is there…" he looked around the hallway. "Are you her doctor?"

"No, I am."

They turned to look at Mark at the same time. The husband's attention left Lexie completely as he directed his questions toward the seemingly more approachable, rational man. "They called me, told me her—" he waved a hand around his neck to gesture in lieu of words. "Is it…fixed?"

The word sent her over the edge. "She's not a vase, or a dog." Her nostrils flared in an endeavor to keep her breathing even. "You took vows. You don't to pick and choose when she's good enough for you."

"Dr. Grey." Mark's interjection was quelling.

Cornered, the husband divided a look between her and Mark and let his eyes rest on the doctor who looked less volatile. "Can I see her?"

"No," Lexie said immediately. "You don't get to be here."

"I can take it from here, Dr. Grey," Mark said tightly, his words a low rumble.

She continued as if she hadn't heard. Stepping closer, she said, "She needed you and you promised her." Shoulders moving with exertion that spoke of extreme fury, she went on: "You promised her that you'd stay, that you'd be there with her—_for_ her—and you left. You _left_. What kind of person does that?" she demanded.

"Dr. Grey." It was a warning.

_Blame it on the lies that killed us, blame it on the truth that ran us down_

But she was beyond warnings.

"You're a selfish, cruel son of a bitch," she said, her vision blurring until she couldn't even see her target anymore, just a bleary mural of what had once been. Her voice broke, but she pushed forward. "She deserved more from you. She deserves more than you."

"_Dr. Grey_." Mark's voice, by its very nature, was too deep to constitute as a real yell, but it reverberated through the halls nonetheless.

She stepped back.

"You are so out of line right now," Mark said, the words pushing past his clenched jaw. His hand found her elbow, the heat of it seeping through her lab coat.

She shrugged him off. "Yeah, I got it," she bit back, already walking away. "But he's not, right?"

_You can blame it all on me_

She was crying by the time she made it to the hallway. Sometimes, when she was lucky, she was a fairly pretty crier. Her cheeks would flush pink, her eyes would swell with tears, making them twice their normal size. Her mouth would tremble and it'd all be rather effective in getting what she wanted. That is, if she was feeling particular manipulative. It had gotten her a bike when she was twelve, a car when she was sixteen.

And then there were other times. Times when pretty was out the door because her nose was invested in the crying jag, too. She sniffed hard, trying to clear her nasal passages because she was all but leaking. Then she exhaled, her eyes rising to the ceiling in a failed attempt to stop being a weepy, lame mess of a woman.

"Damn," she said aloud, to one in particular. "Damn, damn, damn." Sniffing again, she fanned her eyes, working on stemming the flow.

"What the hell was that about?"

Her back straightened as she recognized the voice behind her. "Nothing," she said without turning around, wishing she could have made the word less clogged and more cutting.

He sighed impatiently, still out of her line of vision. "Ask a stupid question, right?"

When she didn't respond, he walked to face her. She turned away by the same degrees. He tried again and still she avoided him.

"I know you're crying," he said. After a beat of silence, he added, "The jig is up."

"Go away."

"I know you feel sorry for yourself, but you can't bring it here."

She laughed humorlessly. "Is that your best sympathetic boss? It needs work."

"I'm not your boss," he said, finally winning the circular dance and catching her face. He ducked his head to meet her watery eyes. Somewhere along the line, she noticed, she'd stopped crying.

Swiping at her damp face with her fingertips, she inhaled deeply. "I'm fine," she said when he just peered at her.

"Right," he agreed, his voice droll. "Which is why you just went batshit on a patient's husband."

Belligerent, she countered with: "Are you going to try to tell me he didn't deserve it?"

"No." It was unequivocal and unexpected.

All she could come back with was, "Oh."

"But it was inappropriate."

She nodded. There was the other shoe. Dropping. "Right."

"Not to mention not even about the patient."

Her head snapped back to meet his eyes. Confidence emanated from him like carbon dioxide. Arms crossed, he looked down at her, his face knowing. "What?"

"Come off it, Grey. It wasn't about her today, and it wasn't about me that night at dinner."

She shook her head and tried to move past him. He wouldn't allow it. "I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered.

"Sure you do." His smile was entirely too light, too easy. Especially for the subject matter. "You're projecting." He had said that to her once before. She'd ignored it then and found it was a pattern worth repeating now.

"That's a mighty big word for an underwear model," she shot back when he once again blocked her retreat.

He let it slide, which angered her further. "It's okay to be angry about George."

Feigning shock, she clapped a hand to her upper chest. "Really?" she asked with mock surprise. "Really, Dr. Phil? Is it? Are you sure?" Gasping her plastic relief, she continued, "Thank you, thank you so much."

Lexie dropped the pretense of caustic joy and simply glared at him. She wasn't used to the venom that burned through her like coffee on an empty stomach; she wasn't used to being so angry, having so much rage and no outlet.

His eyes darkened and for a brief moment, she thought she had pushed him too far. But then they cleared to their normal blue and he said, his voice mocking, "It's what you do with the anger that's important. You can be the kicked puppy. Or you can do something constructive."

_Stranded in the park and forced to confess_

She glared at him. "You should have told me," she said abruptly. He frowned. "About who you were, why you were here, everything." She licked her dry lips. The tang of salt hit her tongue as she collected a wayward tear. "You should have told me."

He nodded. "You're probably right," he conceded.

"I was the last person to know."

"About me?" he guessed.

She nodded stiffly. "Being the last to know…" she shook her head, words failing her. "It's like the world's laughing at you." Her voice was dull, hollow even as she looked past his shoulder to a corner of the stairwell.

His gaze never broke away from her drying eyes, even if she didn't return the favor. He nodded slowly. "I know," he said, the two words soft. Then, with the awkward cadence of someone in unfamiliar territory, he tried. "I'm sorry."

She nodded her acknowledgement. He figured she'd try to move away again and this time, this time he was prepared to let her seek privacy. But she stayed and, though still not looking at him, she spoke. "People," she started and then stopped. "People shouldn't be allowed to tell you they love when they're planning on leaving." With that, their eyes finally met, naked pain shining in hers. "It's not right," she finished quietly.

He watched as her lips pressed in the way they did when she struggled to rein in her emotions. Then he nodded once, his voice husky and candid, "I know."

She didn't know if she believed him, but she nodded anyway before leaving him sole custody of the stairwell.

_There was nothing left to say_

_But I hated him and I hated you when you went away_

**AN: Please review! **

"**Backstreets" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen.**


	12. One Headlight

**AN: Sorry this has taken so long; I can promise that the next chapter will be posted soon though. It is almost done =)**

**Thank you so much to all of you who have taken the time to read this story. You guys keep me going. Do let me know what you think!**

Chapter Twelve: One Headlight

_So long ago, I don't remember when_

_That's when they say I lost my only friend_

Lexie woke to find Meredith sitting on the edge of her bed in the guest room. Snapping to attention immediately, she sat up, her expression wide-eyed, then wary.

"You're not going to throw water on me, are you?" she asked, rubbing her face to get her blood circulating.

Meredith looked puzzled for a moment before her expression cleared. "No," she said, tucking a wayward strand of fine hair behind her ear. "But I think you're ready to move onto the next step."

She frowned. "The next step?"

"In Operation Get-Over-007."

Lexie grimaced. "Pithy."

Meredith grinned. "We thought so."

"We?" Lexie shifted under the covers, giving Meredith more room.

"Well, Izzie thought of the name," Meredith admitted. "But Cristina approved."

Lexie sighed and scooted to leave the bed from the other side. "Meredith…"

Meredith stood as well. "Just hear me out," she said. "It's a good plan, Lexie. It's a fun plan." When Lexie gave her a look, she added, "It's full of sweat and hot, naked men."

Lexie let out a laugh despite herself. Then she merely shook her head as she left for the bathroom. On Lexie's way out, Meredith heard her sister mutter: "The only operation I need to get over George is a lobotomy."

_  
They said she died easy of a broken heart disease_

_Now it always seemed like such a waste, she always had a pretty face_

At the hospital, Izzie was by her side in an instant. Just out of the locker room, Lexie was still pulling her hair back when the blonde matched her stride.

"Uh, hi," Lexie said, lowering her arms. Hair swinging loose, she stared at the taller woman.

"Hi." The word was chipper, revealing a wide set of beautifully white teeth.

They walked in silence for half a second before Izzie picked up the lagging conversation. "So here's the thing: You're doing great, Lex. Really. Just…" She emphasized the word with a fist. "…great. We're all so proud of you." Izzie pulled back another grin. Then it fell. "But you really need to get on board with Operation Screw George."

Lexie frowned. "I thought it was Operation Get-Over 007."

Izzie scrunched her nose. "It was last night, but then this morning it didn't seem catchy and…" Waving a dismissive hand, she returned to her original train of thought. "Anyway, you need to get onto the next step before you regress and end up back in bed."

"I—"

Izzie's brown eyes narrowed. "Because if you end up back in bed, we'll sic Callie on you. And I don't know if you know Callie well, but—"

"Dr. Stevens?" Lexie tried to interrupt.

Izzie continued, more to herself than anyone else. "—she is _scary_. And I don't mean lesbian scary, I mean trailer park scary."

Brow furrowed, Lexie said, "Okaayyy." Keeping her voice slow, she added, "I'm not exactly sure what lesbian scary is, but you really don't have to worry." She waited and then emphasized, "I'm fine."

Izzie gave her a quelling look. "Right," she said, her voice the antithesis of agreement. "I was fine, too."

"What?"

She sighed. "Never mind, just get to the next step, okay?"

_She ran until there's nothing left_

_She hit the end—it's just her window ledge_

"You don't want to be on the PMS warpath," Cristina said.

The _non sequitur_ threw Lexie and she blinked. "Excuse me?"

Charting and talking, Cristina continued, somewhat impatiently. "Being the Nazi on the warpath is one thing, being walking ovaries is another." She snapped the binder shut and looked up. "There's nothing wrong with aiming to be another Nazi; it's about the medicine, it's about demanding the best."

"Aren't you Jewish?" Lexie asked, her head angling toward her shoulder as she tried to follow.

Cristina shrugged. "What's your point?"

Lexie sighed. "I don't have one." She shook her head. "I got pissed, okay? I lost my temper, I yelled. What's the big deal? You're pissed perpetually."

Cristina's brows rose in silent objection. "I have disdain. Disdain is precise, uniform, surgical. What you did yesterday wasn't disdain; it was anger. Anger…" She inhaled sharply, searching for her next words. "Is volatile, prejudicial." With one effective click of her pen, she swept her eyes over Lexie in disapproval. "Hormonal even."

Lexie had barely gotten one disbelieving scoff out before Cristina interrupted. "Just get to the next step, Three, okay?" Brushing past her, she threw back a piece of parting advice: "And no more estrogen outbursts."

_Well, this place is old, it feels just like a beat up truck_

_I turn the engine but the engine doesn't turn_

Curiosity had the best of her by lunchtime. Thus, she was already close to breaking down and asking Meredith what the next step entailed when Alex became the tipping point.

Boredom filling his features, he dropped his tray next to hers. Her sandwich stopped halfway en route to her mouth as she stared at him in shock.

It was relatively easy to determine thay he wasn't there of his own accord, that somewhere in the hospital Izzie had figurative strings on the guy. It was in the way he blew out his breath before talking, the way he barely looked at her even as he spoke.

"Get to the next step already, Grey," he said, his face scrunching in the way it did when he was putting someone in their place.

"What is it?" she demanded.

"How the hell would I know?" he bit out. Then, catching himself, he sighed and said through gritted teeth: "But I'm sure it's pink and gooey and full of emotions." Spent and looking thoroughly disgusted with himself, he snatched up his tray and moved along.

_Well, it smells of cheap wine and cigarettes, this place is always such a mess_

Sometimes I think I'd like to watch it burn

She found them waiting at Joe's. Hitching her bag higher, she tried not to dwell on how predictable she was. Clearly they'd timed her eventual capitulation beautifully.

Across the bar, Izzie shelled a peanut and popped it into her mouth. "Oo, here she comes."

Cristina rolled her eyes. "Finally."

Izzie grinned. "I told you sending Alex would work."

Meredith figured credit was due. "I'm still amazed you got him to do it."

The blonde shrugged, adjusting her pink sweater across one shoulder. "Alex's a good guy, deep down. He just wanted what was best for Lexie."

Callie gave her a skeptical look. "Right."

Mischief swept across her eyes as she smirked with satisfaction. "Well, that and I promised him on-call room sex." She laughed. "Joke's on him 'cause I woulda done that anyway." Her smile toned down when Lexie approached. She cleared her throat and reached for her drink. "Hi, Lexie," she said casually.

"How was your day?" Meredith asked, her tone so conversational it was just plain awkward.

Lexie was silent as her eyes went around the table, meeting each woman's gaze. Sighing heavily, she said, "Uncle."

_Somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams_

Izzie let out a whoop of triumph.

"Move over," Callie told the rest of them as Lexie took a seat in the booth wearily.

"What in God's name is the next step?"

Reproachful, Izzie asked, "Don't you want to know what the other steps were?"

Without Lexie's answer, Callie held up a finger, its navy polish glinting under the dim lights. "Step one: get out of bed."

"Check," Lexie said dryly.

"Step Two," Meredith added. "Go back to work as if nothing happened."

Cristina choked on her drink as she set it down. "Does screaming the hallway count as "nothing happening"?"

Izzie's smile congealed. "Shut up, Cristina," she said through bared teeth that were more feral than they were friendly.

Cristina remembered the conversation they'd had over Burke's scrub cab. She obeyed.

"So…we're on step three?" Lexie borrowed her sister's drink and winced. "Since when do you drink scotch?"

Meredith shrugged. "Apparently it's an acquired taste."

"Says who?" Lexie rubbed a napkin along her tongue before crumpling it in her palm.

"Says De-rek," Izzie sang.

Meredith glared and Callie cleared her throat. "Can we get this moving along? I'm meeting someone for dinner."

"Right, as if Arizona won't still be home when you get there." Cristina took a swig of her beer.

"_Anyway_," Callie said loudly, ignoring her roommate. "We've decided," she began, looking around the booth as everybody turned to Lexie. "That in order to really, truly move on, you need to have sex."

_I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same_

Lexie stared at Callie for a full three seconds, before laughing. She kept on laughing as she looked around the semi-circle of solemn-faced women. "You're kidding, right?" she asked, still chuckling. "Seriously? _That's_ the next step?" Her face straightened as she saw she was the only one who thought the idea was ludicrous. Scowling, she said, "That is the worst idea I've ever heard. Letting in the Trojan horse? Better idea than this."

"No, sitting around getting angrier and angrier at random patients when you could be taking care of business is a bad idea. _This_ is a good idea," Cristina corrected.

"Sex isn't going to magically get me over George."

"No," Meredith agreed. "But it's going to help."

Izzie nodded. "Plus we have other steps."

"Oh, good," Lexie mocked. "I was worried."

"Listen," Callie interjected. "Let me put this in perspective. Izzie wanted to take you to a karaoke bar and make you sing "I Will Survive."

Izzie let out an outraged gasp. "I did not!" She turned to Lexie: "We were just brainstorming," she said defensively. Giving Callie the evil eye, she emphasized, "It was supposed to be confidential."

Lexie shook her head. "I'd rather sing," she said, her eyes inadvertently finding Cristina's. After a brief moment, they looked away. A heavy sigh escaped her throat. "How am I supposed to just pick a stranger to sleep with?"

Meredith nudged Cristina, who cleared her throat. "Actually, we already figured that part out."

Lexie's head shot up. "What?" Waving her hands around, she said, "Okay, no, I draw the line at sleeping with gigolos."

Callie rolled her eyes. "We didn't buy you a man, Grey."

Izzie beamed. "But this guy has great word of mouth; he's…" Mouth parted, no words came as she searched.

"Legendary," Cristina filled in.

"Knowledgeable," Callie added.

"Steamy even," Meredith finished.

Lexie frowned. "I don't get it." She blinked.

Cristina let out a belly laugh. "We know, that's the reason we're even having this discussion."

Meredith shoved her. "Plus, he's not a stranger; you know him."

Lexie's frown lines cleared as she stared at Meredith with wide eyes. "Hey, okay, listen, I know you're just trying to help, but I don't want you to "loan" me Derek."

Meredith looked aghast. "What? No! I'm not loaning you my boyfriend."

Lexie turned to Izzie. "I really don't want—"

"You're not sleeping with Alex." Izzie sighed. "Again."

"I'd give you Owen, but he'd just choke you."

Lexie stared at Cristina. "That's not funny."

Cristina shrugged, her eyes across the bar on the man hunched over his drink. "Isn't it?" she asked softly.

Averting her eyes to give the woman a modicum of privacy, Lexie's eyes met Callie. "You're not getting Arizona." She waited a beat. "Or me. I don't care how good of a lesbian you'd made." Lexie looked at her in confusion. "Never mind," Callie muttered. "You were drunk."

"Then who…"

Izzie practically glowed with pride as she informed her: "Mark Sloan."

_There's got to be something better than in the middle_

_We can drive it home with one headlight_

**AN: Please review!**

"**One Headlight" is written by The Wallflowers and performed by The Wallflowers and Bruce Springsteen.**


	13. Reason to Believe

**AN: Hello all, happy summer! =) **

**I hope you enjoy this chapter AND that you guys have been sooo great. I've never really ventured into writing ensemble pieces with multiple characters, so I was worried about them ringing true. But everyone's positive feedback has made me so happy I tried, not to mention grateful to have such supportive readers!**

**Also, Poroto and others who may listen to the music: This chapter definitely went along with the live version of "Reason to Believe"; I don't think I've even listened to the studio version of this song. **

Chapter Thirteen: Reason to Believe

_Now Mary Lou loved Johnny, with a love mean and true_

This time Lexie didn't bother thinking they were pulling her leg. "No," she said instead, her voice immediate and unequivocal.

"Oh, come on," Izzie wheedled.

"No."

"Trust me," Callie said. "He's good."

Lexie didn't want to think about that. "No."

"Two nights with him and it'll be "O'Malley who?"," Cristina took another sip from her beer bottle, her eyes switching over to a spot behind Lexie every few seconds.

"No."

"Why the hell not?" Callie slapped the table with her palm in frustration. "You've already spent the night with him."

The entire table, sans Cristina, swung their heads toward Callie. "What?" their voices rang in unison.

Then they turned to Lexie, who was still gaping at Callie. "How did you know that?" she demanded.

Callie bit her lip. "He told me," she admitted.

"We didn't sleep together," Lexie said, her voice verging on bitter.

"What?" This time Cristina joined the rest of the women.

"I know," Callie added. "He told me," she repeated.

"Wait." Izzie shook her head as if to clear it. "You already spent the night with him?"

Cristina stared. "You didn't sleep with him?"

Meredith frowned. "When was this?"

But Lexie's attention was still on Callie. "He told you?"

Question unanswered, Izzie tried again: "You already spent the night with Sloan?"

Cristina turned to the blonde. "But she didn't sleep with him."

Lexie wasn't letting Callie off so easily. "He _told you_?" She covered her face. "What else did he tell you?"

Meredith joined in the smaller circle consisting of those working with limited information. Leaning toward Izzie and Cristina, she said, "I still don't get when this happened."

Cristina sighed her impatience. "The night of the wedding—er sort of wedding."

Meredith's blue-green eyes widened. "You knew?"

Cristina's brow furrowed. "You didn't?"

Izzie waved her arms. "But why was she even with him? She'd never even met him before."

They all turned to Lexie and Callie, who were still talking.

Lexie groaned. "I had no idea you two were friends." Opening her palms to the rest of the table, she said, "I had no idea he knew any of you."

Meredith asked, "He didn't tell you?"

Cristina snorted. "Please, Mere, Mark Sloan doesn't exactly sit around making small talk when he's got a woman in his hotel room."

Lexie didn't want to share her own personal evidence of how untrue that was. It wasn't exactly the most flattering of admissions. Luckily, Callie did it for her. "He said _all_ they did was talk."

"Talk?" Cristina repeated, as if it were a foreign word.

"Talk." Izzie said slowly, her mouth forming the word slowly as if trying it out for the first time.

"Talk," Meredith said, staring ahead in concentration.

"People talk," Lexie cried out, taking umbrage. "Sometimes they just talk."

"Yeah, _people_, but Mark Sloan?" Izzie shrugged. "He's walking sex."

"Izzie," Callie said out of the side of her mouth.

She went on, "I mean the man practically wrote the book on gross anatomy, if you know what I mean."

Watching Lexie's face, Meredith tried to get the blonde's attention. "Uh…Izzie?"

"Oh, come on, Meredith," Izzie retorted. "He was all over you when he first came around, even with Derek breathing down his neck."

"He tried to sleep with you?" Lexie turned to her sister.

As if realizing her words, Izzie snapped her jaw shut. And then opened it again in an endeavor to backtrack. "No. Not really. Only a little." She looked around the table. "It was a long time ago."

Lexie snatched up Meredith's glass and took a longer gulp of her scotch. Pulling a face after setting the drink back down, she wheezed out, "He didn't even try to kiss me," she said bleakly.

"He didn't?" Izzie couldn't help the question or the disbelieving gape that accompanied it.

"I seem to remember someone spazzing when Alex didn't kiss her good night," Meredith reminded her wryly.

Izzie frowned. "Very true." Nodding her encouragement to Lexie, she repeated. "Very true."

"Lexie, you're looking at this all wrong," Meredith said. "Clearly, he liked talking to you. Otherwise he would have hit on you just to shut you up."

When Izzie stared at her with a slackened jaw, Meredith lifted a shoulder in her defense. "What? I think that's helpful."

Callie patted Lexie's hand. "He _did_ like talking to you," she confirmed. "You're…special."

"Yeah, special as in un-doable." Glum and shoulders slumped, she took another drink, this time from Izzie's glass. "I can't even get the grand poo-bah of sluts to sleep with me."

_One day he up and left her and ever since that_

"This is your brilliant plan?" Lexie glowered. She tried not to think of that night in the kitchen. "Beg someone who finds me hideous to have sex with me?" Wry and self-deprecating, she added, "Because my self esteem hasn't taken enough of a beating?"

Three of them spoke at the same time:

"He does not think you're hideous," Meredith reassured.

"You are not hideous," Izzie corrected.

"Don't insult the plan," was all Cristina offered.

"It doesn't matter." Lexie shook her head. "I'm sure he's left town by now anyway."

"He hasn't," Callie said quickly. "Still at the Archfield; same room." At Lexie's arched brow, she amended with a more casual: "I think."

"So what do you guys want me to do? Go over there and strip?" Lexie laughed.

Izzie nodded.

"Okay." Patiently as she could, Lexie tried to explain. "Maybe I'm not making myself clear. I'm going to throw myself at someone who has made it painfully obvious he's not interested."

"He is," Meredith blurted out. When the heads turned her way, she looked at Cristina out of the corner of her eyes and continued. "He was actually going to ask you out to dinner, but—uh, I, well I made Derek stop him."

"What?" Callie asked.

"Yeah, well, see I figured you didn't need him seducing you, but then Cristina said getting laid was _exactly_ what you needed."

"It's true, you do," Cristina chimed in. Looking past Lexie once again, she sighed. "I waited way too long." Another sigh, followed by: "Waayyy too long."

"If you're just going to have eye sex with him, you might as well go over there," Izzie snapped.

Cristina's eyes immediately shifted. It was the guiltiest Lexie had ever seen the woman look.

"Anyway," Meredith said. "He definitely wants to sleep with you." She nodded. "Definitely."

"You asked him to stay away from me," Lexie repeated carefully. Alcohol swimming in her stomach, she blinked and leaned back. "Why would he let Derek tell him what to do?"

Callie snorted. "Are you kidding me?"

Izzie laughed. "After what he did to Derek, he'd walk through fire if it meant getting on his good side again."

Frowning, Lexie angled her body closer to the table. She didn't bother to disguise her piqued interest. "What do you mean?"

"Addison," they said in unison.

"Who?"

Meredith filled her in. Her description had just cleared the double board certified neo-natal part, when Lexie interrupted.

"Wait," she said, holding a hand up. "Not Addison Montgomery?"

"Montgomery-Shepard for a while," Izzie supplied.

"_She_ was married to Derek?" Lexie's mouth unhinged so fast, her jaw clicked. Slapping her forehead harder than she had intended, she blew out her breath. "I read an article about her in JAMA. She operated on these conjoined twins who—"

"Yeah," Meredith said, her voice wry. "She's kind of fabulous. We know."

"Adultery and salmon-colored scrubs aside," Izzie added.

"Really?" Callie's highly arched brows rose. "You're going there?"

"Okay, seriously, who here hasn't gone there?" Izzie asked, looking around the table.

Cristina raised her hand and Izzie thanked her bitingly.

Lexie's brows crept up closer to her hairline. "You're not saying…Dr. Montgomery and….Mark?"

Meredith nodded. "While they were still married. In their bed." With an incline of her shoulder, she finished, "Derek walked in on them."

"But Mark and Derek have known each other forever."

Callie glossed lips curved back into a slow smile. "You two really did talk."

Cradling her forehead in her hand, Lexie tried to get the image of the article out of her head. There was no way she could compete with Addison Montgomery. The eidetic memory didn't just help with the page numbers of medical journals; it also supplied her with a photo of the doctor in question. The thick burgundy hair was one thing. The endless limbs were another. The lab coat Addison had worn in the photo couldn't begin to hide her legs.

Sufficiently deflated, Lexie said to herself, "This is nuts."

"No," Callie answered. "What's nuts is letting Mark Sloan leave town without getting yours."

He'd leave town, Lexie told herself. He'd leave town soon enough, but he wouldn't be leaving _her_. His departure, unlike her fiancé's, wasn't a rejection; it was merely _fait accompli_. That knowledge…it served as preparation, it was a crafted exit.

It wouldn't be smartest thing she'd ever done, but it'd be the safest. A small part of her warned her her logic was askew, but she ignored the voice of prudence. People breaking character was the theme of her life lately.

She wasn't the kind of girl who slept around. But George hadn't been the kind of boy who crushed hearts.

Feeling strangely warm and courageous, Lexie stood up. "I'm getting mine," she echoed.

_She waits down at the end of that dirt road for young Johnny to come back_

After Callie offered to drop her at the hotel on her way home, the remaining girls ordered another round, since Lexie had polished off their last one.

"Just so we're clear…" Izzie started. "She's drunk, right?'

"Oh, yeah," Cristina confirmed.

"Definitely," Meredith said.

"I'm pretty sure that man's never going to see her sober," Cristina sighed.

Izzie gnawed at her full lower lip. She waited a beat and then asked, "Did Sloan really tell you he wanted to ask her out?"

Meredith dodged her eyes. "Er—well, I mean, when do men ever really come out and say what they—"

"Meredith."

"Okay, no," Meredith admitted.

Izzie sighed. "Meredith…"

"It got her over there!"

The blonde groaned, letting her head hang. "I _knew_ we should have stuck with karaoke."

_Still at the end of every hard-earned day _

_People find some reason to believe_

**AN: Please review!**

"**Reason to Believe" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen.**


	14. Because the Night

**AN: Enjoy! =)**

Chapter Fourteen: Because the Night

_Take me now, baby, here as I am_

Lexie had slicked a thin layer of gloss across her mouth while she'd waited for the elevator downstairs. By the time it released her onto his floor, she'd pulled the sheen off with small, anxious bites of her lower lip.

As she made her way down the hallway, she could feel her courage accompanying her heels as they sank into the plush carpet. Things had seemed much clearer when she'd been drinking.

Now, head no longer muzzy with the idealistic simplicity of just going up to a man and demanding sex, Lexie faltered. Shaking her head, she took a step backward. After executing a messy turn, she took three more steps toward the elevator. Then she stopped, turned again, and walked closer to his door.

After staring at the wood for a long while, she swung her eyes to look at the metallic double doors of the elevator. Frozen in some warped pickle, Lexie remained in the hallway, unable to go forward yet unwilling to retreat.

_Desire and hunger is the fire I breathe_

Mark pressed the pads of his thumbs to his temples and rubbed them in idle circles. Feeling his massive headache dissipating, he blew out his breath.

Being chastised by your best friend's mother when you were ten was one thing. After all, the kitchen was her domain and frogs and microwaves didn't mix. Rules were there for a reason; at ten, boundaries were synonymous with protection.

It was an entirely different thing when the one setting up boundaries was your peer and the rules weren't so much for your own good as they were safeguards against your destructive tendencies.

The vote of confidence was bolstering, Mark thought wryly.

The initial pleasant surprise of seeing Derek at his hotel door was short-lived. After a few preliminary greetings, he'd gotten down to business.

The premise he'd set up was simple: Lexie was fragile. Mark didn't own a pair of kid gloves. Mark was destructive; Lexie was not made of Vibranium.

The rule he'd promulgated was even simpler: Talking to Lexie was fine, but pants were mandatory.

Part of him had been just plain offended. After all, in her current condition, the girl was the epitome of vulnerability and as much as Mark Sloan liked a good time, he wasn't into coercing consent. For a small moment, he'd been tempted to tell Derek the truth of how he'd met Lexie.

But most of him had just been weary. So he'd merely nodded and pretended like the George story wasn't old news. He was getting sick of hearing the kid's name.

His cooperation had earned him a smile from Derek before his friend had left. All he needed was a pat on the head and he'd be back from the doghouse. The cynical thought pulled one corner of Mark's mouth up.

The knock at the door yanked it right back down. Sighing, he stood up. His headache was back with reinforcements.

"What," he said, reaching for the doorknob. "You forget to—"

His next words slipped from his mind. Because rather than Derek at the door, it was the epitome of vulnerability.

_Just stay in my bed 'til the morning comes_

Neither of them said anything for a moment. Even though she had knocked, her mouth parted soundlessly. Apparently, the feeling was mutual because he just stared back at her, his body still blocking the doorway

She took advantage of his raised brows and stricken face by sidestepping his tall frame. Three steps put her well within the confines of his hotel room and he closed the door behind them.

"Hi," she said, shrugging off her pea coat.

He watched the movement warily and she tried not to take that as a bad sign. Aiming for nonchalance, she tossed the coat over the back of a chair and turned to look around the room.

He didn't say anything so she spoke, her hands nervously finding each other. "I wanted to apologize." Then she added, "And to thank you for listening." When he didn't appear to be catching on, she explained, "For the other day? In…in the stairwell?"

He nodded. "I remember." His arms crossed over his thin t-shirt.

It could hardly be seen as encouraging, but she forged ahead, forcing her fingers to stop twisting. She needed to exude confidence, not frailty. "You were right, I was out of line."

"And projecting," he prodded.

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "And projecting," she conceded through gritted teeth.

He smiled then, displaying a row of even, white teeth. It was such a difference from the surprised, aloof man who'd answered the door that she could only blink.

"Admitting you have a problem is the first step," he teased, moving to sit on the couch.

Sucking in a steadying breath, she sat next to him. Instead of taking the cushion at the other end, she opted for the middle one. Angling to face him, her knee pressed against his thigh and she waited. It wasn't until he froze at the contact that she realized she'd been holding her breath.

He cleared his throat then, shifting ever so slightly. The movement created a millimeter of space between them, but it was perceptible.

Telling herself to man up and go for it, she inclined her body a bit further until they were touching yet again. She wasn't sure if the heat she felt was from his thigh or from her own adrenaline, but when his eyes rose from their joined legs to her face, she met his gaze boldly.

Then he shot up, the movement so quick, she almost fell back against the sofa.

_The vicious circle turns and burns _

"Hey, in here," Derek called out when the front door closed.

She found him in the kitchen. Dumping her satchel on a nearby chair, she said, "Hey, I'm glad I caught you." She put her hands in her back pockets, the movement stretching the fabric of her button-down shirt. He watched the motion with clear appreciation and she hid her smile. "I need to talk to you about Mark."

He held out a palm as if to stop her. Smiling broadly, he said, "No need. Took care of it just now; he will definitely be staying away from Lexie."

She groaned. "What? No, no, no. I need him to _sleep_ with Lexie."

Derek's smile fell. "Excuse me?" he asked. "Didn't we already agree that Lexie is fragile?"

Nodding her agreement, she sighed. "That's why he needs to sleep with her. Otherwise she'll be devastated."

Derek frowned. "I—"

Running her hands through her hair, she paced in agitation. "She's over there right now throwing herself at him and you've told him to reject her."

"Er—_you_ told me to tell him to reject her."

Waving her slender hands as if brush off the minor detail, Meredith implored him, "You have to tell him to forget what you said, to go for it."

Derek stared at her for a long moment. Then, words slow and precise, he asked, "You get that I'm a surgeon, right? Not a pimp?"

_Come on now, try and understand_

"I was going to get something to drink," he said abruptly. "Did you want anything?"

The change of topic didn't disturb her; the uneasy way he spoke did. Shrugging, she agreed.

Mark made it halfway to the bar before stopping. He turned and walked back, talking more to himself than her. "On second thought, no drinking," he muttered.

Her brow furrowed when he sat in the chair adjacent to the sofa instead of returning to her. Meredith's words reminded her of the promise he'd made to his best friend.

Lexie shook her hair back and strengthened her resolve. Leaning toward him over the sofa's arm, she tucked her chin into her palm. "Are you all right?" she asked, keeping her voice low. She aimed for a throaty purr only it came out as more of a wheeze.

Luckily, he seemed too preoccupied to notice. "Uh—yeah, sure," he said, his eyes bouncing off the walls.

She smiled and stood up, her legs eating up the short distance to his chair. "You have an eyelash," she explained, bending to lean over him. With one palm on the chair's armrest to brace her weight, she brushed her finger across his cheekbone. "Make a wish," she offered.

He stared at the pad of her finger in front his mouth and then at her face, which was level with his. A dark curtain of hair spilled over one shoulder, falling into the space between them. A cross between vanilla and citrus flooded his nostrils and he forced himself to stop inhaling. His eyes slid from her hair to her lips.

Damn.

"Do you hear that?" he asked, unnecessarily loud.

Her brows knitted. "No," she answered, but he stood up anyway, forcing her to take a step back or risk getting mowed over.

"I thought I heard the phone ring." He walked to the landline near the nightstand and picked up the receiver. With his back to her, he exhaled, giving himself a few moments of reprieve. Jesus, this was going to be death of him.

He wasn't sure if Derek had set this up as some kind of supreme test, but if so, Mark no longer had a best friend. Just a sadistic son of a bitch ex-best friend.

Momentary refuge over, he set down the phone. "Guess not," he laughed uneasily, turning to walk back to the sofa. He stopped short when he saw that she was right behind him, her damn eyes darker than he'd ever seen them.

He knew that look. He was vastly familiar with that look. That look was one hell of an aphrodisiac. It was the heavy-lidded, feline look of a woman who knew the full extent and power of her wiles. The soft smile that tugged one corner of Lexie's mouth merely confirmed it.

Double damn.

He opened his mouth to tell her it was getting late, that she needed to get home, that he needed to take about three cold showers. Instead, he only let out a winded oomph as she pushed the heels of her hands against his upper chest.

Then he was staring at the ceiling, wondering how someone so little could have such freakish upper body strength. Elbows as leverage, he propped up on the bed just in time to see her fingers work the buttons of her thin sweater, her eyes on him the entire time.

"Lexie," he started, his voice bordering a scold.

She didn't heed him and a moment later, she was wearing a flimsy excuse for a bra.

"Oh, Jesus," he muttered, looking back at the safer, less stimulating view of the ceiling. Soon enough, his eyes cried mutiny and found her again, if only to discover what color her bra was so that he could save the image for later, much later, when she came to her senses and left and this memory was all he had of her.

He was hoping for beige. Or gray. Or some dingy hue that used to be a color but no longer was.

Red. God clearly hated him.

Then he gave up not watching and surrendered to the greed. His eyes flew over her body once, taking the siren call of her bra, the dip of her navel. Then he slowed down with the realization that time was on his side, that he had been afforded the luxury of slow memorization. As she worked the top button of her jeans, his eyes ran down her body once more.

Rarely was the second time of anything better than the first. Lexie was apparently an exception because this time he was able to see more than the red of her bra. He was able to see the swell of her breasts, the smooth skin near her collarbone. He didn't just see the indent of her belly button, but also the way her slender waist flared into the hips hugged by the low rise of her dark jeans.

There was something oddly compelling about the expanse of skin covering her ribcage before tapering into denim. Maybe he was too used to skirts and stockings and silk blouses. For a brief moment, he wished she'd keep the jeans on.

"Lexie," he choked out, the name no longer a warning.

But then her jeans were off and it was a stupid miracle he'd ever wished clothes on her.

_The way I feel when I'm in your hands_

Lexie wasn't a prude. She enjoyed sex, always had. However, she'd be damned if she'd have to take off her own underwear the first time she slept with a particular man. There was something to be said for foreplay.

That decided, she moved forward, one bare knee sinking onto the mattress before its twin joined. She hadn't even made it to his side of the bed before he was scrambling backward away from her.

"Lexie," he said, staring at her earlobe. "Lexie, this is—you are—"

"Yes?" she encouraged softly, her smile curving her mouth up. Still on her knees, she walked closer.

He swallowed hard. His head met with the headboard and he realized there was nowhere left to scoot. She had to be one step ahead of him because in a matter of seconds, she was over him, one knee planted on either side of his hips.

Then she lowered herself onto his lap, her hands reaching out to frame his face. Frozen, he watched her features come closer and her eyelids lower. His initial thought was that if more people had genes like Lexie's, it'd put him out of business.

Desperate, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away. "What time is it?" he demanded.

She blinked, stunned. Hair tumbling around her shoulders with the force of his grasp, she stuttered. "I don't know."

Depositing her to one side, he moved to the end of the bed. "I have to call the hospital. I completely forgot to get updates on—"

He cut himself off. She knew why. "You don't have patients," she said slowly. He watched her face carefully over his shoulder. Her near nudity and clear rejection becoming all too apparent, she looked sick. "Oh, god," she said, looking around the room. Her clothes were on a pile in the floor.

"Lexie..." The hand reaching out to was as imploring as it was helpless.

She waved him off. "Forget it," she said. "I'm an idiot."

"Lexie, it's not—"

"Stop saying my name," she snapped, pulling her hair back as she tried to get off the bed whilst covering as much of her body as she could without appearing like a self-conscious child.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She laughed dryly, "For what?"

Standing, he came over to her. "Look at me," he demanded, blocking her path to her clothes.

Sighing her aggravation, she finally obeyed. "What?" Her voice was petulant, snarky even and he knew that in respecting her vulnerability, he'd just shattered her self-esteem.

"You're…" he started, running his hands up and down her arms in a gesture that was meant to reassure. He pulled back to drink in her body. "Look at you," he finished softly.

The tone conveyed more than the words. Lexie sniffed and peeked up at him. "Yeah?" she asked, tenative.

"Yeah," he confirmed, nodding. "Oh, yeah."

She gave him a tremulous smile. Hair rumpled and eyes bright, she looked entirely too innocent to be the same woman who'd thrown him down on the bed moments ago. Instead of the slanted eyes of a seductress, Lexie's doe-shaped eyes were back, their hazel color returning.

And even with the fact that she was nearly naked and wearing a shade of red that inspired lust, Mark found himself endeared.

"You are," he started, and her face perked up, displaying the rapt attention of a woman who senses a imminent compliment. "Adorable," he finished.

Her face went from warm to livid in half a second flat.

"Adorable," she repeated. "Adorable?" she asked, this time louder. Slapping his arm, she shoved past him to get to her clothes. "Puppies are adorable, naked babies on rugs are adorable," she ranted.

"Unbelievable," she said to herself as she yanked on her jeans. Tight as they were, she had to shimmy into them and Mark pressed down his smile at the picture she made.

"Lexie—" he tried.

"Oh, shut up!" she shouted, reaching down for her sweater. "You are such an ass." She scoffed, "Adorable. _Adorable_!"

Blindly stuffing her arms through the sleeves of her sweater, she rounded on him. "You know, I'm _sorry_ my hair isn't red and I'm _sorry_ I'm not a foremost neo-natal surgeon and—and I'm _sorry_ I don't have legs up to my ears, but in _my_ family, we're proportional."

The mention of Addison barely made him blink. But as she turned away from him, the image of her back compelled another smile he had to repress. He didn't have the heart to tell her that her right sleeve didn't quite reach her wrist because she'd twisted the back of her sweater twice in her hurry to get it on. She figured it out on her own, however, when she raked her hair back and saw her bare wrist.

Letting out a growl that bordered on a cry, she dropped her arm and stomped to the door, grabbing her jacket on the way.

"Lexie," he called after her.

She didn't pay attention as she worked the locks. Prepared to yank the door back, nothing happened when she pulled. Instead of unlocking the door, she'd twisted another lock in place. Muttering to herself, she tried again.

"Lexie."

"How the hell do I get out of here?" she asked of no one in particular.

"Lexie."

"What?" she spat.

Hands on her shoulders, he guided her to him. "Adorable," he informed her, " is the new sexy."

Then he kissed her.

_Because the night belongs to lovers_

_Because the night, belongs to us_

**AN: Please review!**

"**Because the Night" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen.**


	15. Cover Me

**AN: Here's the thing. Slexie happened rather quickly on the show; I mean the hotel scene was great, and though we didn't get to actually SEE it, the Slexie relationship developing was also great. However, this story will be a slower version of Mark and Lexie's relationship. I hope you guys bear with me; I'm going somewhere (somewhere good, hopefully). =)**

Chapter Fifteen: Cover Me

_Promise me, baby, you won't let them find us_

"My flight's today," he said, head in his palm as he watched her.

Half her face still buried in the heat of her pillow, she squinted up at him with one eye. "Mmm," she acknowledged.

Awake and propped up on his bent elbow, he gave her shoulder a shove. "Wake up so we can eat breakfast."

"Can't you just order room service?" she mumbled.

He grinned and his grin was almost too bright to face. Scrubbing at her cheeks with vigor, Lexie forced her eyes open. "What?" she asked, when he was still smiling down at her.

He shrugged a shoulder negligently. "I seem to remember a time where I had to beg you stay for breakfast. Now I can't get you out of my bed."

She grimaced. "I had a hangover that belonged in the Guinness Book of World Records."

He bent over her, his free hand smoothing her hair back. Kissing her forehead, his thumb swept across her hairline. "Very true," he agreed before rolling on his back to reach the phone. "Omelets this time?"

She sat up to swing her feet to the floor. Shaking her head, she stood to stretch. "I'm allergic to eggs."

Pausing on the phone, he looked over at her while she made her way past him to the bathroom. Swallowed in one of his shirts, she lifted her arms to tie her hair back. The movement inched the hem of his shirt higher on her slim thighs.

There were a handful of tiny details she'd told him that very few people were privy to. And yet, for all that intimacy, there was something to be said about the basics. The basics he knew nothing about.

A voice on the other end prompted him. He ordered pancakes.

_I've seen enough, I don't wanna see anymore_

Over breakfast, she asked, "What time is your flight?"

"Two." He watched her over his coffee mug.

She nodded while cutting through her stack of pancakes. "Have you said goodbye to Derek?"

His hand froze for a moment as it reached for his fork. Spearing a few berries, he evaded the question. "I'll see him around."

Brows knitted, she swallowed and looked up at him. "Isn't he your best friend?"

The last conversation Mark had with his best friend was still a sour memory. Something told him the news that he'd spent another night with Lexie was not going to sit well with Shephard's morals.

So he answered with a simple: "Yes," and left it at that.

She sighed and set her utensils down. "I know," she said.

"Excuse me?"

Impatient to move the conversation along, she explained as if talking to a slow child. "About you and Derek. What Derek made you promise."

He arched one brow. "You know," he repeated slowly. When she nodded, he set his fork down with a clatter. Leaning back, Mark surveyed her. "So you coming here and stripping was what? A test?"

Her eyes grew enormous. Enormous and offended. "No!" Then, color heightening, she muttered, "Though if it was, you definitely passed." Lexie cleared her throat. "I just—well, he really doesn't have any right, you know, to tell you…" she trailed off.

"Who to do?" he offered wryly.

She didn't answer and he sighed. "He kind of does." Vision sharpening, he zeroed in on her. He thought of her tirade the night before. "But then, you already know about Addison, don't you?"

She lowered her eyes to her plate. "People talk," she explained.

"Especially at Seattle Grace."

_Hold me in your arms, let's let our love blind us_

The conversation throughout breakfast was jovial, conversational. Thanks to his easy demeanor, it hinted at effortless camaraderie and absolutely no intimacy…or awkwardness.

On one hand, it was something for which to be grateful. Lexie was awkward enough without being thrust into an even more awkward situation. On the other hand, it was enough to make a person think they'd concocted an air-sucking, bone-dissolving kiss with just a vivid, lonely imagination.

Over their final cup of coffee, she'd given up ever appealing to him and mentally prepared for the lecture she'd give herself on stripping for overly hot men. Shoes on and at the door, she turned to wish him a safe flight.

He took the opportunity to tuck his hand into the waistband of her jeans and yank her toward him. The backs of his fingers were flush against the skin of her lower abdomen and she managed to suck in a breath before his mouth found hers.

He tasted of fresh coffee and Lexie breathed him in, her arms rising to grip the width of his shoulders. When he finally pulled away, it was only so far as to rest his lips against her cheek.

"Thank you for coming over," he murmured into her skin, his low voice reverberating through her.

She nodded mutely, swallowing hard. "Anytime," she joked, lifting her hand as one final goodbye before walking down the hallway toward the elevator. After waiting for it to arrive, she stepped in and turned to face the panel.

For a moment, before the doors closed her off, she caught a glimpse of him in the hallway, his shoulder resting against the doorway of his room as he looked after her.

_Outside's the rain, the driving snow_

By the time she made her way back to Meredith's house, she'd already invented and discarded half a dozen ways to avoid the well-meaning, curious interrogatories of the newly formed sisterhood of female pimps.

She arrived, however, to an empty house. In dire need of a nap, she trudged up the stairs and fell onto the guest bed.

When she woke it was time for her shift. As she faced the glowing, red numbers of the alarm clock, her first thought was that his flight had left hours ago.

She smiled as she stretched in bed. Past the darkened ceiling, she could almost see his face above hers as he kissed her. For a brief moment, she thought of him on the plane, reading a book, watching a movie, maybe catching some sleep. She allowed herself those three images.

Then, she stood up and began getting ready. It was enough, she decided, enough time spent on thoughts of a man who, in reality, was only a bit more than a stranger.

_Turn out the light, bolt the door_

Women had a way of asking questions silently. Izzie's eyes squinted, Callie's brow arched. Meredith's mouth pursued and, though Cristina claimed she didn't speak girl, her chin lifted every time they were together, and Lexie knew Cristina was silently wondering if the pathetic jiltee was worthy of a bit more respect now.

Lexie managed to avoid their curiosity with a bit of luck and a lot of ducking into patients' rooms.

It took two days, but they gave into their own assumptions. They noticed the way she spoke to her patients, how she started to exchange smiles with people in the hallways again. Lexie let them arrive at whatever conclusion was convenient; that night in the hotel was hers and hers alone. Though, she amended, maybe it was a bit his, too.

Soon enough it seemed that Mark Sloan's turbulent entrance and anticlimactic exit had blown over and was now considered old news. And then Lexie arrived at work one morning to find them all congregated near the nurse's station and her theory evaporated.

Izzie was towering over Meredith, her eyes focused on something between them. The blonde's smile was so wide Lexie could feel excitement emanating off of her from down the hallway. As she got closer, Cristina, who looked only marginally interested to begin with, nudged Meredith's shoulder.

Simultaneously, Callie looked up. "Lexie," she greeted loudly. "Hi. What's going on?"

Lexie eyed her strangely. "Hey," she said slowly, looking over at her sister, who had shoved her hands into her scrub pockets. Meredith rocked on her heels and Lexie could see the thin, dark band of her watch above the blue material of her pants.

"What's going on?" Lexie asked, setting her charts down.

"Nothing!" Izzie said brightly, standing so that half her body covered Meredith's shorter frame.

"We were just—surgery." Callie blurted out inarticulately, "Surgery today."

Lexie nodded. "Yes…and everyday."

"You wanna scrub in on a joint replacement?" Callie offered, grinning. "Both knees," she added. "It's going to get _crazy_." She enunciated the last word just enough to worry Lexie.

Before she could answer, Cristina interrupted. "No, she's assisting on my coronary angioplasty."

Lexie stared at her. The last time Cristina had willingly given her a procedure, she'd been set up to fail at a central line.

"Okay…" she started. "What gives?"

"What do you mean?" Izzie asked.

"I mean Yang's being nice and Torres isn't calling you a homewrecker so something's up."

Callie scoffed. "I don't call her a homewrecker all the time."

Izzie shrugged. "Well…"

Callie rolled her eyes. "Shut up, Stevens."

"They're just covering for me." Meredith eyed them. "Badly." She cleared her throat. Moving ahead of Izzie, she met her sister's brown eyes. "Lexie," she said, exhaling slowly. "I proposed to Derek last night."

Lexie's eyes immediately fell to Meredith's small hands, which were still hidden in her pockets. As if caught, she revealed her left hand, extending it out with clear reluctance.

"Oh, my God," Lexie whispered, the wind knocked out of her. Pressing her lips together, she tried to keep her body from shaking as she looked at the stone resting on Meredith's slender finger.

Izzie gnawed on her lower lip. "We didn't want you to…" she explained, an unspoken apology behind the words.

Lexie didn't hear her through the blood pounding in her ears. It was like she was seven again and putting shells to her ears. "Oh, my God," she repeated again.

Meredith sighed, her worry evident. "I know. The timing, it's—"

Eyes bright with emotion, Lexie lifted a shaky hand to hold her sister's jeweled one. "You're getting married?" she asked, her voice tremulous with disbelief. Then she laughed, the sound husky through her tears. Looking at the other apprehensive women, she exclaimed, "She's getting married!"

Meredith turned her fingers around in Lexie's hand to squeeze hard. "I'm getting married," she echoed.

Lexie held on just as tightly. "Where?" she asked, brushing her face with her free hand. "How? And how do you have a ring if you asked him?"

Meredith and Izzie answered simultaneously. Meredith said: "He said he's had the ring for a while. It's his mother's."

Izzie waved her hands around while she spoke. "She asked him on the ferry." Rolling her eyes, she asked, "Can you believe it? Way to suck the romance out of it."

Meredith glared at her. "He has a thing for ferry boats."

"I didn't even know you were planning on…"

Meredith shook her head. "It just sort of…" she lifted one shoulder by way of explanation. "Fell out. One minute we were freezing, the next minute I dropped my pager and I went to get it and—"

"Wait." Lexie held out a hand. "You were actually on one knee?"

Izzie clapped her hands, her excitement bubbling over. She rushed on to explain, "Apparently she was down there, looked up and blurted it out."

Meredith glanced at her wryly. "For not being a romantic story, you certainly get a lot of joy in telling it."

Izzie shook her head. "It's not the _story_, Mere, it's you. You and Derek. _Growing_."

Cristina yawned. "Yeah, they're practically a tree now." She turned to Lexie. "You want in on the angioplasty or not?"

_Cover me, shut the door and cover me_

Grabbing a fistful of popcorn, Lexie spilled a few kernels as her free hand blindly reached for the ringing phone next to her. Her eyes were glued to the television screen as she mumbled a greeting through half-masticated corn.

A familiar chuckle filled her ears and she swallowed quickly, the sharp edges of the popcorn prickling her throat.

"Hi," she managed to get out.

"Hey," he said. "How have you been?"

"Good," she answered. Then there was silence. She wished for something clever to say. Something clever and breezy, yet intriguing. All she could come up with was: "I did a coronary angioplasty today."

He was quiet for a moment before what she could only guess were good manners took over. "Congratulations."

Wanting to kick herself, she set down the bowl of popcorn as if he could see her making a mess all over the couch.

"Is Derek there? I wanted to congratulate him, too."

She was royally dumb for searching for small talk when he clearly had a reason for calling. Lexie smacked her forehead with her palm. She let out a silent scream before composing herself. "No," she said with remarkably calm. "He and Meredith went…out. To celebrate." It was another reminder that she was a guest in a house with a freshly engaged couple. She needed to figure out her housing situation pronto.

She could practically see him nodding on the other end. "Right." Clearing his throat, he added, "Will you tell him I called?"

"Sure," she said, then clapped her hand over her mouth when the flickering screen displayed a cloud of red hair and jagged teeth emerging from a shower drain. "Oh, crap," slipped out before she could help it.

If her shriek didn't tip him off, the menacing music from the set took care of it. "What the hell are you watching?"

Mortifying as it was, there wasn't enough time to think of a lie. Lexie unclipped her hand from her mouth and answered, "_It_."

"As in the clown movie?"

The dubious way he described the movie made it seem innocuous. That rubbed her wrong way and embarrassment forgotten, she retorted, "As in the reason I ran away from my sister's birthday party screaming." Reaching for some more popcorn, she said, "This movie scarred me for life."

"Then why are you watching it?"

"Because I'm twenty-five and I thought it would be more ridiculous than funny."

"Were you right?" Laughter tinged his question.

She closed one eye to the screen as she watched the clown laugh. "No," she admitted reluctantly, turning off the television. "Have you seen it?" she demanded.

He laughed again, the sound deep and self-deprecating. "It's on here, too. Encore presentation."

Lexie turned the set on again. "Which part are you at?"

"Rain gutter scene with a kid and his boat."

Lexie shuddered. "Creepy."

"Or just really bad make-up."

"Shouldn't you be watching something worthy of a nationally renowned surgeon or something?" she teased.

"And miss seeing what made young Lexie Grey cower in fear?" he mocked back. "Never."

"Clowns are freaky, okay?" she said, her voice growing high. "Anything that has a huge red smile painted on has to spring straight from the devil." Fed up, she switched the channel. "Do you have TNT?"

She heard a shuffle from the other end and assumed he was searching for his remote. While she waited, she added, "I love this movie."

He sucked in a deep breath immediately. "Jesus," he swore.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Lexie glowed with discovery. "Are you afraid of snakes?"

"Only ones that are 20 feet. It's unnatural. Why the hell would you want to watch _Anaconda_?"

"It's fun," she defended. "Plus it's not like they're everywhere. Just avoid the Amazon and you'll be fine."

After a pause, he said, "True. It's not like they're are invited to birthday parties."

She scowled. "Shut up."

His only answer was another laugh.

_I'm looking for a lover who will come on in and cover me_

**AN: Please review!**

"**Cover Me" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen.**


	16. Tunnel of Love

**AN: Sorry it's been so long! This chapter has been half-baked for so long, I finally got sick of myself and watched some Slexie clips on YouTube and waited for the warm fuzzy feelings. =) Hope you enjoy!**

Chapter Sixteen: Tunnel of Love

_It ought to be easy, ought to be simple enough_

When the phone rang the next night, she was in bed reading. She considered letting it ring itself out for half a second, and then, concentration broken, she sighed and rolled over to reach for the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hello, back," he said.

She sat up straighter and couldn't help the smile splitting across her face. "Hey, how are you?"

"Long day. You?"

"Same." She shrugged even though he couldn't see. "But it's over." She adjusted herself against the pillows, the headboard shifting behind her weight. "I think Derek's home. Let me—"

"No, you don't have to do that." Mark cleared his throat and Lexie found her interest piqued by the hesitancy in his voice. "I actually got a hold of him earlier today."

Realization dawned on her and suddenly it was warm enough to kick the covers down to her calves. "Oh," was all she said.

"I take it you're busy."

Lexie pressed the phone closer to her cheek. "No," she said quickly. "I was just reading."

"No horror movies tonight?"

She smiled against the receiver. "That's only on Tuesdays. On Wednesdays I read."

"Small world," he said back. "I read, too."

She closed her eyes, her smile irrepressible. "How 'bout that?"

_Man meets woman and they fall in love_

Fifteen minutes later, he suggested she run.

"Running," she repeated dubiously.

"Yes," he replied patiently. The extension of the word was so deliberate, she knew he was mocking her. "It's kind of like walking, only accelerated."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm aware of the concept, it's the practice I take issue with."

"It's good for you," he said.

"I don't have the right shoes."

Unfazed, he continued, "You'll sleep better."

She bristled. "I sleep fine."

He snorted immediately. "Which is why you roll over every half hour."

"I do not!"

"You're as consistent as a train." When she was quiet, he continued, "Trust me. A good run and you'll sleep like a log. Plus, it's nice; the time to yourself, I mean."

"Yeah, me and angina, slogging over pavement. Good times."

He laughed. "Just do it."

_But the house is haunted and the ride gets rough_

"They're like this living legend. I think people keep waiting for it to just fall apart." Lexie blindly picked at the edge of the comforter. It had been an hour now and she had slid onto her back to stare up at the ceiling, the phone cradled in the space between her shoulder and ear.

"Well, they've ridden the on-off line so much it's not even a line anymore."

"More of a perforation?" she quipped.

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Tough crowd," she said. "Give me a break." Craning her neck, she looked sideways at the alarm clock. "It is late, you know."

"Later here."

"True." She paused. "Do you have to go?"

"No," he teased. "But my mom says lights out in one hour."

"Funny guy," she said dryly. After a few beats, she asked, "What was I saying?"

"How people don't really think Meredith and Derek will cross the finish line."

"Right," she said. "It's not that I don't think they will. I just think they've been through a lot."

"Yes," he agreed.

"And they deserve this. _She_ deserves this."

"And so does he," Mark added quietly. "I think he's been waiting a long time for this. For her."

Lexie nodded, the movement restrained by the pillows cushioning her head. "Right. So nothing's going to go wrong."

"I didn't say that."

"Mark!" she admonished.

"We're talking about Meredith and Derek here. I'm not saying it's not going to happen, I'm just saying it's never going to be smooth sailing."

That was undeniable. "Fair enough. She wants to go to city hall, you know."

Mark scoffed his skepticism. "Like Carolyn will let that happen."

"Who?"

"Mrs. Shephard."

Lexie's brow rose. "You know Mrs. Shephard?"

"Not as well as she knows me."

The answer was intriguing to say the least, but she let it go. He didn't offer any more and she didn't press. "And Mrs. Shephard is not a fan of city hall?"

"Derek's her baby boy," he said. "And as great as I am, she gave hope that I'd get married a long time ago."

That sentence revealed a lot, despite the face he'd shared it as a joke, but Lexie stored it away for further analysis. For now, she only said, "But he's been married before."

Then she could have kicked herself. "Crap," she quickly backtracked. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. He was married. You're right." Then he blew out his breath. "But it's the real thing this time. At least, I hope it is."

Levity. They needed levity. "So no city hall."

"No city hall."

_And you've got to learn to live with what you can't rise above_

He didn't call the next night. She tried to tell herself she wasn't disappointed. That was easy enough to do when she was tagging bridal magazines with Izzie. It was even easier when they tried to tie Meredith down to look over them.

It was, however, significantly harder when she clicked off the lamplight and willed herself to go to sleep. She flopped onto her stomach and thumped her pillow several times before rolling over yet again. Inextricably tangled within the sheets, she glared at the ceiling and cursed Mark Sloan for ever calling her to begin with.

Then she thought about snakes and couldn't help the smile pulling the corners of her mouth. Soon enough her lids grew droopy and the shadows on the walls slid into darkness.

The following night, Lexie came home to find a package on the kitchen counter. "It came in the mail today," Meredith explained while pouring herself some juice. "It's for you."

Lexie glanced at the return address and then at her sister, who was doing her best to appear nonchalant. "I know you looked," she said dryly.

Meredith was in the middle of an unsuspecting shrug when she gave up. Setting her glass down, she said, "All right, fine, I looked. But you have to admit Mark Sloan sending you gifts is unusual."

Lexie grabbed a knife and cut along the lines of the small cardboard box. "We don't know it's a gift," she said absently, slicing through the clear tape with neat precision.

"Right." Meredith snorted. "I'm sure he's sending you a big bag of poo."

Lexie pulled out a rectangular box from the packaging and took off the lid. Then she laughed.

Meredith craned her neck, juice forgotten. "What is it?"

"Shoes," Lexie said, still laughing.

"Shoes?"

Lexie pushed aside the thin wrapping tissue and held up one squeaky clean sneaker. "Shoes," she confirmed. "For running, to be exact."

She only saw the yellow sticky note once she'd finished examining the blue durability of the soles. After the initial L, it read in hurried block letters: NO EXCUSES. It was signed only with an M.

"Running shoes," Meredith repeated slowly, picking up her glass. Brows high, she stared at Lexie smiling over the shoebox. "O-kay."

_There's a room of shadows that gets so dark, brother_

He heard the mirth in her voice when she cut off the second ring by answering. "Hello," she greeted and he had a feeling she already knew who he was.

"Hi."

There was an ineffable quality to her voice, especially right at the beginning of their conversations. Like she was genuinely happy to be talking to him. Mark let himself think that maybe, just maybe, this was the highlight of her day, too.

"I checked the mail the other day," she started, her voice casual.

"Is that right?" He extended his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles.

"Yes and…" she paused for effect. "I also tried them out."

"And lived to tell about it," he said. "It's a miracle."

"If you called to be snarky, you can talk to my dial tone."

He laughed. "Fair enough. How was the run?"

Lexie sucked in a deep breath and settled for honesty. "Crappy." They laughed together and she continued, "So so crappy. But then, after the first hour, it—"

"Wait a minute, you ran for over an hour?" Incredulity traveled through the line and she sighed.

"Okay, it only _felt_ like an hour. In reality, it may have been more like five minutes."

He laughed. Hard. "I'm listening," he said by way of reassurance. "I swear."

"Right." She rolled her eyes.

"It's going to be worth it," he promised. "You'll be out like a light later."

"We'll see." She pointed her toes and stretched her leg muscles for a long moment. "How was your day?" she asked, scooting down on the bed to press her back flat against the mattress. It gave beneath her weight and the creature comfort had never felt so welcome.

Two minutes into his story about the futility of crafting cheekbones, he stopped. "Lexie?" he called. When there was no answer, he tried again, this time a bit louder, "Lexie."

Mark could make out a deep inhalation chased by the soft sigh of her exhale. He smiled against his phone. Then an image of her, red-faced and bent over at the stomach on the damp streets of Seattle, popped into his mind. Before he could control it, a noise halfway between a snort and a choked laugh escaped him.

He held his breath a moment to hear her breathe in and out once more. Then he said, "Good night, Lexie," and hung up.

_It's easy for two people to lose each other in this tunnel of love_

She was the one who made the call the following evening. "I am so sorry," she burst out, cutting off his preliminary hello.

"It's all right," he said, "Now I know to leave the cheekbone story out at cocktail parties. It's clearly a dud."

"No!" she rushed on, "It wasn't. Or—I'm sure it wasn't. I didn't really hear—anyway, the point is: I'm sorry."

"How did you sleep?" he asked.

That threw her. "Oh—I-er" She stopped and admitted, "Like I never went to med school."

He voice was victorious. "So what you're saying is…I was right."

"You know, I forget how humble you are sometimes."

His sigh was one employed by martyrs. "It's a curse." He settled back into his sofa chair, one long finger circling the rim of his glass. The ice within the amber liquid tinkled as it melted. "Are you going to do it again?"

She groaned. "I get why people would try it once: ignorance. But why someone would do it _again_ knowing how awful it is? No idea."

"I think the repetition thing prevents it from being "awful"."

"Lies." Lexie scowled and rubbed her calf. "That's a big fat no on the again question. My legs are on strike."

"That's a shame," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I remember them being a damn good pair, too."

She sat up straighter in bed, unsure of an appropriate response. There were times when their conversations were so easy and fluid, it was like talking to an old friend. But every once in a while Mark would insert a suggestive comment, making it impossible to forget that he'd seen her, really _seen_ her. She didn't know if he did it deliberately or it if was just his way of conversing with all women, but it was a regular reminder of where they'd started rather than what she thought they'd grown to be.

"Well," she said easily, "Cherish the memory because they'll be long gone by the wedding." Eyes widening, she added, "Meredith's wedding, I mean. To Derek."

"I figured as much," he said, his tone patient without being unkind. He went along with the change in conversation. "Derek told me he and Meredith booked a church."

Lexie's brows rose. "Oh, did they?" she retorted. "I suppose they also hired a caterer, ordered flowers and finalized the dresses?"

There was a long pause followed by: "I'm guessing you booked the church?"

Because unlike Derek, she gave credit where it was due, she said, "Izzie and I did, yes." Ball rolling, she continued with, "And let me tell you, if it weren't for us, Meredith would be walking down the aisle naked."

"Help me out here…that would be…bad?"

She smiled. "Yes, just because Meredith _is_ white doesn't mean she gets out of _wearing_ it."

Mark let out a short guffaw. "I think people would talk less if she showed up naked."

"Okay, so she's been…" Lexie searched for the right words. "Sexually inquisitive."

"Nicely put."

She went on as if he hadn't commented. "That doesn't mean she can't wear white to marry the man she loves."

"You are absolutely right," he said.

Surprised at his quick capitulation, yet satisfied, Lexie shook her hair back behind her shoulders. "Yes, well, thank yo—"

"Just to be safe, you may want to order it in off-white."

Lexie scowled. "Shut up."

He continued, "Or maybe a nice eggshell cream thing."

"You're hilarious," she said bitterly. "Really. Especially considering how you're the paradigm of virtue."

"I try."

"I feel I need a two drink minimum just to listen to you and your little comedy routine."

"That reminds me," Mark said and Lexie yet again admired his ability to never take offense. "Make sure there's an open bar; if I'm gonna be in this thing, I'm gonna need a lot of booze."

She didn't know why that surprised her. She'd expected him to attend, of course, but news of his involvement sent waves of apprehension rolling through her stomach. "You're in the wedding?"

"He asked me to be his best man." The pride in Mark's voice was unmistakable. "Again."

It wasn't necessary, but she said, "I'm a bridesmaid." A similar ring of delight surrounded her words. It was a testament to how far she'd come with Meredith. "Cristina's the maid-of-honor, of course, but she has the most ridiculous dress." Giving in to her tendency to ramble, Lexie continued. "I can't judge, though. I mean, you saw _my_ dress, it was the definition of tacky. Plus—"

He interrupted with a softly spoken question. "How are you doing?"

She furrowed her brow. "What do you mean? I'm fine. Aside from my legs failing me, that is."

He didn't laugh. "I meant how are you doing with all of it: wedding planning."

She let out her breath. "It's—I—it's fine."

"That was convincing."

"No, I mean, it—this whole wedding, this time—it isn't about me. It's about Meredith." She gave out a weak smile even though there was nobody to see it. "And maybe a little about Derek, but mostly about Meredith."

"It can't be easy."

She thought about how it felt to look over bridal magazines and dress samples the other night. In comparison, she thought about how she'd felt while she'd been busy planning another wedding day, one that had been just for her. How different it had been then, how different she had been.

There had been moments in the past few days, brief and biting moments, where her eyes had glazed over magazines and she'd wondered how she had gotten here.

She should have been flicking through pages and reminiscing about her own wedding. She should have been grateful that the ordeal of planning a wedding was behind her. She should have been amused by Izzie trying bully Meredith into submission because she had the internal peace of knowing marriage was infinitely calmer than the entire wedding business.

Instead, no wedding band glinted under the light as she'd thumbed through hundreds of gowns and veils. There was no one waiting for her at home, willing to stroke her hair as she regaled him with stories of stressed-out bridesmaids and an apathetic bride.

"No," she said shakily. "I guess it's not."

"I'm sure Meredith would understand if you wanted to take it easy on the planning."

"No." Lexie shook her head. "I want to do it. I'm glad to do it and to be a part of it." Blinking against the light, she willed away the prickling sensation behind her eyes. "I just—I just…" Words failed her. Her frustration mounted at her inability to communicate. She thought of that patient they'd both cared for not so long ago.

"Wish you'd had your chance," he said quietly.

Tears spilled over her cheeks when he'd finished. She nodded before speaking, her voice a clogged whisper. "Yeah."

_Then the lights go out and it's just the three of us:_

_You, me and all that stuff we're so scared of_

**AN: Please review! Don't worry, I promise some face time with Mark and Lexie soon.**

"**Tunnel of Love" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen.**


	17. Two Faces

**AN: =) Happy reading! Mild language in the later parts of the chapter; earning the PG-13 rating and all. **

Chapter Seventeen: Two Faces

_I met a girl and we ran away_

She had a bad habit of charting while walking. Acknowledging the bad habit did not necessarily equate a desire to rectify it. While erasing a fuzzy seven, she looked up briefly in a perfunctory effort not to hit anyone. Her sneakers squeaked against the floor as she stopped short.

One elbow resting on a counter, Mark's posture was relaxed as he smiled at something his companion said. Shorter, with a closely cropped head of steel hair, the woman next to him laughed.

Panic flooded her and she looked to her left and right before practically falling into a supply closet. It took a moment to adjust to the dimness, but she slapped the light switch on and tried to calm her breathing.

The instinct to hide had been irrational, but instinctive. It was one thing to talk to him on the phone. You couldn't see someone's ridiculously square jawline over the phone. You also couldn't make out blue eyes or broad shoulders. Damn.

"Kill the lights!" Someone hissed behind her.

Lexie whirled around to see Meredith behind a metal supply shelf. "What are you doing here?"

Meredith only jerked her chin in the direction of the light switch. Obedient in exchange for answers, Lexie flicked it off. Once they were swallowed in darkness, she tried again. The entire situation seemed to call for a low whisper. "What's going on?"

"Mama Shephard is here."

Lexie's brow wrinkled though gesture remained unseen in the dark. "Carolyn?" She smiled despite her own problems. "You call her Mama Shephard?"

"Carolyn? You _know_ her?" The panic Lexie had felt outside manifested itself in Meredith's voice. Lexie's smile disappeared and she was suddenly grateful for the darkness.

"Er-no, not really." Coughing, she changed the subject. "Why are you hiding?"

"Why are _you_ hiding?" Suspicion lined her sister's voice.

Eyes widening, she stumbled through her answer. "I—it's a supply closet, Meredith, I needed supplying—supplies."

"You're hiding from Mark."

Such intuition was not a regular part of Meredith's character. Lexie's mouth fell open. She didn't bother to deny it. "How did you know? And why is he here?"

"_Carolyn_," the use of the given name was stressed, "is out there talking to him."

The identity of the silver-haired woman became apparent. Lexie sighed and fell against the wall opposite Meredith. Her head made a dull thump against the plaster.

"You got that right," Meredith said wryly.

_I swore I'd make her happy every day_

They waited a while. Lexie caved first, asking, "Do you want to go first?" In the dimness of the room, Lexie could make out Meredith shaking her head. "Fine. I can't face him," she confessed. "I saw him and then I felt all these—" Lexie wrinkled her nose in disgust, "_feelings_. And not mushy feelings, but…"

Lowering her voice, Lexie tried to gesture with her hands. "_Physical_ feelings. Meredith, do you have any idea how good-looking he is?"

Meredith laughed. "Yeah."

Lexie shook her head. "No, Meredith. You haven't seen him. Like without a shirt. Sweet Jesus."

"I still don't get the problem. You want him. He wants you. Happy screwing, I say." Meredith groaned. "I have real problems. Mama problems."

Lexie wrung her hands. "He doesn't exactly…_want_ me…per se."

There was a long pause before Meredith said, "I'm gonna need more information."

Lexie was only half-listening. She banged her head against the wall twice. Hands clenched into fists, she thumped them, too. "Not to mention I haven't had sex in forever."

Here, Meredith felt she could relate. "Tell me about it," she snorted derisively. "I tried abstinence once. I swear, after a month, I—"

Lexie interrupted, "It's…it's been longer than a month."

Meredith frowned and squinted at Lexie across the closet. "What? Mark was only here a few weeks ago. Unless…" Her brow rose as she pieced something together. "Lexie?" she asked, her voice rising. "You didn't have sex?"

"Shhh!" Lexie snapped. "Do you want Carolyn to find you in here acting like the sex police?"

Meredith's mouth slammed shut. But only for a moment. "Not even the second time you went to his hotel room?"

Lexie shook her head miserably. "We just…kissed."

Meredith chewed on that for a moment. "You spent the night making out with a thirty-eight year old man?"

It sounded even worse aloud. "Do you see why I can't be feeling sexy feelings around the sex incarnate when he clearly doesn't want…" Lexie trailed off.

"Sex?" Meredith offered.

Instead of agreeing, Lexie let out another sigh and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Meredith followed suit. Knees near her chin, Lexie said, "Your turn."

"She's going to hate me."

"That's the second dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"What's the first?"

"Izzie's karaoke idea."

Meredith laughed. "I'm sure Carolyn would love Izzie."

"Izzie's not marrying her son. You are." Lexie watched as Meredith ran a hand through her hair, her bangs flipping back in place. "Why do you think she'll hate you?"

Meredith sucked in her breath. "I…did something…stupid."

Lexie's heart sank. She thought about the caterer and the flowers. She should have kept more receipts. Maybe Izzie had. "Who'd you sleep with?"

Meredith blinked and then scowled. "Thanks."

Lexie's relief was minimal. "Then what?"

"We're married."

"What?" Lexie shrieked.

"Shh!" Meredith hissed. "Do you want Mark to come in here and…" She broke off laughing. "Not have sex with you?"

Lexie grimaced and threw a package of gauze at her. "Plan your own damn wedding."

Meredith dodged the missile and grew somber. "We went to city hall a few nights ago. It was just too much. Much too much." Her slender hands flew in the air as if to conjure up images. "The dresses and the lace and flowers in the hair and on the tables and in my bouquet and the whole 'chicken or fish, Meredith? Chicken or fish, chicken or fish'?"

If there was one thing Lexie could sympathize with, it was the meat choice debacle. George's mother had voted for chicken. Molly had been adamant that salmon was classier. She shuddered at the speeches she'd been subjected to in order to persuade her one way or the other. The entire time, she'd wanted to scream that the meal was hardly important when she had a dress that looked like a tent a hobo would reject. Not to mention the fact that she and her fiancé hadn't had sex since the wedding plans had begun.

Changing her focus to the problem at hand, Lexie said, "And his mother doesn't know?"

Meredith shook her head. "Derek doesn't want to tell her. And I'm fine with going through the ceremony so everyone can attend, but…"

"You don't want to meet her and immediately lie to her," Lexie guessed.

"Yes, exactly." Meredith swallowed hard. "She's going to know."

Lexie couldn't deny that. Mothers had a way about them. "Maybe she won't care. I mean, you're going to be family; that counts for something."

Meredith sighed, tilting her head back. "I'm not so good with the family thing."

Lexie laughed. "I know. But even when you don't like family, you love them. That's how it works." Lexie thought about the pieces of Mark's relationship with the Shephard clan he had revealed over the past few weeks. Part of her had been glad he'd found a makeshift family in them. Most of her had been sad he'd felt the need to find one in the first place. "And she'll love you, Meredith, she's just like that."

Meredith's eyes pinpointed hers. They were bright and clear, even in the dim closet. "How do you know?"

Unwilling to share what Mark had confided in her, Lexie coughed. "Well, she's out there laughing with Mark after he slept with her son's wife. She's clearly the definition of tolerant love."

Meredith mulled over that for a moment and then took in a deep breath. Wiping her palms on her scrub pants, she slapped her thighs once and stood up. "Okay. So as long as I don't sleep with Derek's best man, I'm ahead of my predecessor?"

"That's one way to think of it." Lexie remained seated. "Of course, if you do get Mark to sleep with you, tell your sister how, won't you?"

Meredith sent down a half-smile. "Lexie," she started. "You can't stay in here forever."

"I'm not planning to," she defended. "Just until he's gone."

"We have a rehearsal dinner tomorrow."

"I'll be there," Lexie promised. "But that's tomorrow." She waved her away. "Now go away; this is my hiding spot."

_And how I've made her cry_

_Two faces have I_

She had to stay late to make up for the time she'd spent sitting on the floor of the supply closet. This penalty logistically worked out for her; had Mark and Carolyn stayed for dinner, they would have gone back to the hotel by the time Lexie unlocked the front door.

Lexie unwound her scarf and tried to work the kinks out of her neck as she made her way to the refrigerator. She knew she'd survey the contents before giving up out of exhaustion and going upstairs. The exercise was one borne out of practice rather than actual hunger.

As she stood bathed in the light of the lone fridge bulb, she looked for any evidence that there had been a family dinner earlier tonight. She spotted a casserole dish topped with saran wrap and sent a prayer of thanks that she'd stayed late. The last thing she had needed was to be caught at a kitchen table keeping Meredith's white lie and her own raging hormones a secret in front of Mark's surrogate mother.

"That's probably the least efficient way to air condition the house."

A shriek flew out of her as she spun around, her arm whacking against the refrigerator's door. The contact made her wrist throb and caused the door to swing shut, enveloping the room in darkness. Slowly, her heart rate dropped to a more neutral pace. She recognized the voice, but the fear of a burglar was ironically slight compared to the confrontation ahead.

Mark clicked on the kitchen light and she blinked to adjust her vision. They stared at each other across the island. He smiled, his display of teeth more feral than warm. "How have you been, Lexie?"

The best defense was to attack first. Narrowing her eyes into brown slivers, she asked, "Do you normally skulk around dark kitchens scaring people?"

He shrugged away the offense she had intended. "Only when they're avoiding me."

Damn. She swallowed and turned away. In an endeavor to keep her hands busy, she opened the kitchen door and grabbed a few items with blind eyes. Dropping them all on the counter, she tried to make herself look entirely too busy to deal with an unwanted guest.

"I'm not avoiding you," she said. "I was busy. At work. I didn't even know you were in town." There was a faint accusation in her voice, as if she blamed him for not telling her.

He drew closer, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her work. "You knew I was in the wedding. And that the rehearsal dinner is tomorrow." Clearing his throat, he added, "Now do you want to tell me why you're avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you." Unwilling to concede, she muttered, "It's not like you called me or anything."

Victory shone in his face. "Ah," he said sagely. "So I should have called."

"No!" She dumped some white powder into a mixing bowl as if to punctuate the denial. "That's not what I meant. I only meant I can't be avoiding you if we didn't have plans or I didn't ignore any calls or…" She lost steam and trailed off, staring at the wall in front of her.

"Then I shouldn't be offended that you'd rather stay in a supply closet for ninety minutes than see me?"

Her head snapped up and she stared at him with huge eyes. Mortification seeped in, replacing any desire to remain aloof.

He continued on dryly, "You're not as invisible as you'd like to believe, Lexie."

_One that laughs, one that cries_

Stiff as a board, she fumbled around a drawer for a whisk and stirred the paste in the bowl. "I was—surprised."

"I figured as much." He leaned over and stilled her wrist. "What I want to know is why." Extracting the whisk from her grip, he dropped it into the sink. "You're done here anyway."

Lexie bristled further. "Excuse me?" she began, her voice haughty. "I—"

His voice was gentle, but definitely amused. "Lexie, you just mashed together ketchup and sugar with eggs. You eat that and you'll be back at the hospital."

"What?" She looked down. An empty carton of eggs and a ketchup bottle took up counter space next to the sugar canister. "Oh," she said.

After the mixing bowl followed the whisk into the sink, he turned back to her. "Well?" he prodded after another moment of silence.

Watching him turn the faucet on her inedible show of culinary skills made her irrational peeved. She remembered the way she'd thrown herself at him in his hotel room only to be neatly turned down. Twice. And now he got to enjoy the perks of being indignant?

Squaring her shoulders, she angled her chin up and told him: "You're a tease."

_One says hello, one says goodbye_

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," she all but sneered at him. "You walk around all flirty and promising sex—" His brows shot up, but she kept on going. "But when it comes down to it, you're all 'oh, no, I just want to be friends'." She pulled her face into one of mock surprise before turning stony once again.

"And you do it because you love the attention almost as much as you love making women feel badly about themselves." Slapping a towel she'd picked up, she threw it at him. It bounced off his chest and fell to the floor ignored. "Why? Probably because you're a misogynistic bastard whose mommy didn't love him and whose last girlfriend got going while the going was good."

There was a beautiful moment where she felt fantastic, liberated and undeniably articulate. She had never been one of those people for whom the perfect, scathing words arrived at the perfect, scathing moment. Rather, she was the person who'd toss and turn in bed two hours later crafting a speech that _would_ have been perfect and scathing.

That shining moment, however, was short-lived. Her victory turned pyrrhic in a matter of seconds. It only took looking at Mark to realize that while she'd needed to lash out in order to release much of her anger, it had been at the entirely wrong person.

The look on Mark's face wasn't decipherable. Anger she could have tried to deal with. Hurt, too. His face was a blank canvas. His brows were motionless, his eyes dark. His mouth didn't even so much as twitch.

He moved one arm to turn off the tap, giving her his back. When the water stopped, he walked past her to gather his jacket. He shut the front door behind him softly.

Lexie fell into a chair, her face in her hands. She tried to turn off her brain because all she heard were her vicious words on repeat. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she chanted, rolling her forehead over the heels of her hands.

When the front door opened with a clatter and he stomped into the kitchen, she just gaped up at him. Fury thrummed from his stiff body as he tossed his jacket onto the table. Glowering down at her, he paced for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

_One does things I don't understand_

_Makes me feel like half a man_

"You," he finally said, pointing at her, his pacing continuous. "Are a brat. I get that O'Malley did a number on you, I do. Which is why I've been patient." He shook his head, letting out a bark of humorless laughter. "But I'm done being patient.

"You don't have the market cornered on human suffering, Lexie." Striding over to where she sat, he leaned in close, his face a twisted mask of anger. "Everyone's got a sad story, but if you're going to wear your wounds like a medal, it's more than unattractive." He waited a beat before adding, "It's pathetic."

He pushed away from her as if he couldn't handle being that close to her for another second. "So yeah, maybe my mommy didn't love me and maybe Addison left, but at least I'm moving on." Mark sucked in a deep breath and looked over at her briefly.

Mouth parted, she stood up. "No." He waved her off with an imperious finger. "You don't talk now. You've done enough talking.

"So what if I didn't sleep with you? I don't stay up to 3 am talking to my _friends_." He spat out the last word with such venom, she winced. "I don't stay up to 3 am talking to _anybody_." He glared at her. "Which should tell even a moron like you a thing or two." Then, clearly not trusting her to piece together any information on her own, he spelled it out for her in cutting words: "I _liked_ you, Lexie. For reasons that are increasingly unclear."

He left once more, but only made it halfway to the front door. She was exactly where he'd left her, standing in the space between the wall and the chair. "One more thing," he said, his legs eating the distance between their bodies.

His palm extended to meet flush against the skin of her lower abdomen. Giving her a less than gentle shove, he moved with her as her back met the wall. His fingers still splayed over her stomach, Mark bent his head and angled his mouth across hers.

Lexie's response was immediate, her stomach doing strange gymnastics behind the heat of his hand. But apparently it wasn't quick enough for him. His free hand reached to cup her jaw in a hold that bordered on painful. With his thumb and fingers bookending both of her cheeks, her head was immobile.

When he lifted his head, he unclipped both of his hands from her body. Jaw clenched, his cheeks looked hollowed, each high with color. "Sorry," he bit out, his tone anything but apologetic. "You know how we misogynistic bastards are."

Then he exited once more. This time for good.

_Last night as I kissed you 'neath the willow tree_

_He swore he'd take your love away from me_

_Well, go ahead and let him try_

**AN: Please review! **

"**Two Faces" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen.**


	18. One Step Up

**AN: Forget that I said the rehearsal dinner was "the next night." I totally botched that up. My bad, guys. =) Enjoy!**

Chapter Eighteen: One Step Up

_Another fight and I slam the door on_

_Another battle in our dirty little war_

The unexamined life was one not worth living. Feeling more and more like a fortune cookie, Lexie repeated the adage once more for good measure. Then she told herself to stop staring at the fish tank and focus.

Dr. Wyatt looked at her patiently, her head tilted at an angle designed to convey patience and understanding. Lexie wondered if that was a required course in school: "Sympathetic Head Angles: Acute and Obtuse." What a ridiculous thought. Only now she was smiling and she was pretty sure smiling in therapy didn't show the doctor you meant business.

It was entirely too early to indulge in a talking about herself and her problems for an entire hour. Yet she was still here, perched on the edge of the couch that had undoubtedly seen the ugly end of numerous breakthroughs.

She'd been unable to sleep after Mark's harangue last night. Thirty minutes after he'd left, she'd stopped scoffing at his words long enough to grow uncomfortable at the home truths. After trying everything, she'd scraped the bottom of the barrel and resorted to an early morning run. She'd only made it as far as the hospital, showering in the locker rooms before trudging up to the fifth floor and usurping a patient's cancelled appointment. The modern day version of waving a white flag.

Habits derived from years of being a people-pleaser were hard to shed. Silence was not encouraged in therapy; even she knew that. Desperate for say anything to say, she smiled at the doctor. "I'm sorry, I thought I'd know what to say once I got here."

Pencil entwined between her fingers, Dr. Wyatt made a sweeping gesture. "Take your time," she said. "We can talk about anything you want."

"I'm not the crazy one," Lexie went on, letting out a half laugh. "My sister—the other Dr. Grey? She is. In fact," Lexie laughed again. "She's probably going to think I just came here to copy her."

Dr. Wyatt didn't laugh and Lexie coughed, falling silent. "What I mean is, she has a _reason_ to be here. In therapy, that is. With the father issues and the mother issues and…" Lexie waved a hand around as she listed them.

Dr. Wyatt merely stared at her, the lines around her mouth pinching. "I'm really not at liberty to discuss other patients." She made a note on her pad.

Lexie's eyes widened as she followed the scratching of the pencil. Could you fail therapy? Surely they didn't dole out grades. "No, of course not. Doctor-patient privilege; I totally understand that. I was just…nevermind."

The older woman glanced above Lexie's head to read the clock. Then she leaned forward. "Does this, by any chance, have something to do with Dr. O'Malley?"

Recoiling, Lexie leaned back against the couch. She swept invisible lint off the material before answering with her own question. "You heard, huh?"

Dr. Wyatt gave a noncommittal shrug. "People talk."

Lexie sighed. There was no arguing with that. "I'm not a very angry person," she said. Dr. Wyatt held her gaze, her hands motionless; Lexie wondered why that particular bit didn't warrant notation. "I—I'm the nice one. I smile and people generally like me and I've never had temper issues."

"You said "one", you're the "nice one." As opposed to…"

Lexie blinked. "Well, I mean, Meredith's the complicated one. People like her, but she's more effortlessly popular than any kind of Miss Congeniality." She turned her eyes back on the fish tank instead of Dr. Wyatt's blue gaze. "And Molly…well, Molly has a family. She doesn't really need to worry about popularity."

"But you do."

It was a sentence rather than a question. "I don't really _worry_ about it. It just—" Lexie cleared her throat. "That's hardly the point. I was just saying that I'm not generally an angry person."

"But you're angry now?"

Lexie didn't answer. She flexed her toes within the constraints of her sneakers. The ones Mark had sent her. "I've never hated anyone, but I'm afraid I might hate George."

_We've given each other some hard lessons lately, but we ain't learning_

"I see."

Lexie wanted to tell the doctor there was no way she could, but kept quiet instead. Confrontations weren't her forte anyway.

"Why?"

Incredulous, she gaped at the doctor. "Are you serious?" She laughed, "I know the grapevine isn't a perfect communication system, but you must have heard what happened."

"Why don't you tell me?"

What a sadist, Lexie thought. If she knew and the good doctor knew, there was no point in repeating the words other than for an exercise in cruelty. As obliging as always, however, Lexie obeyed, her voice a dull monotone. "He left me." She cleared her throat. "At the altar." She continued, barely recognizing the bitter quality her voice adopted. "And he planned it all. God knows for how long."

"And you think you hate George because he left you?"

"Not for not marrying me; who would want to marry someone who didn't want them?" Lexie sighed. "I don't hate him for leaving me, I hate him for turning…" She moved her fingers, as if the right words were some tangible entity in the air, readily obtained. "For turning me into someone who…hates."

"Why do you think you're so angry?"

Lexie stared at Dr. Wyatt as if the other woman were stupid. "Because I got jilted," she said.

Dr. Wyatt shook her head patiently. "No, I mean what made you realize the change in you?"

The new shoes stared up at her. Lexie didn't know why she had hoped to avoid this part; it was, after all, the impetus for knocking on Dr. Wyatt's door. "I said some things to…someone. Things…" Lexie shook her head in self-deprecation. "Terrible, mean things. Things I never would have said three months ago. Things I never even would have _thought_ three months ago."

"Did you mean them?"

Lexie paused, thinking. "I don't know," she said honestly. "But if I did, there were a million different ways to say them. Nicely."

"But you were angry."

Lexie nodded. "I was angry." She felt a familiar prickling sensation behind her eyes. "And that's why I think I hate him, for turning me into the sort of person who would…" She cut herself off and focused on willing her eyes to dry.

"This someone," Dr. Wyatt changed tacks. "Were they close to you?"

Gender wasn't really something she was concerned with protecting, not when the rest of her insides were on display. "Not at first," she answered carefully. "But he became a friend, a good friend." She smiled at the memory of him calling her adorable. "He was kind to me, even when I didn't especially deserve it."

"Do you think he'll forgive you for what you said?"

She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. The thought of seeing Mark again was enough to make her cringe. She was grateful for Meredith's bachelorette party that night, which pushed back the inevitable rehearsal dinner one whole day.

To Dr. Wyatt, she answered, "I don't know." Two fish were swimming in tandem. One gained speed and left the other behind. Lexie turned back to the other woman. "He said things to me, too."

"Terrible, mean things?" Dr. Wyatt echoed.

"Maybe." Lexie gave her a watery smile. "But true things."

"What did he say?"

"That I need to let go. That I'll never stop being a victim unless I stop treating myself like one."

"Do you think of yourself as a victim?"

"I don't know," Lexie said quietly, looking down at her folded hands. "I just know it's exhausting being this angry."

_Somewhere along the line I slipped off track_

_I'm caught movin' one step up and two steps back_

That night, as Lexie walked up the steps of Meredith's house, she heard the faint strains of music. Crossing her fingers that Izzie hadn't rented a karaoke machine, Lexie pushed open the unlocked door.

Dance party.

Lexie had only seen dance parties when things were bad, very bad. It was a last resort, really, employed when talking and big surgeries didn't do the trick. Wondering if the whole Mama Shephard thing had reached new levels of bad, she set her bag down.

"Lexie!" Meredith called out in the middle of a shimmy with Cristina. Lexie had always liked her sister's voice. It was of such a low, dry timber, screaming or shrieking or other overly feminine tones weren't possible. "Dance it out!"

She joined the dance party, her hesitance rooted in her sobriety. Flinging her arms above her head, she bumped hips with Callie. When Arizona came over with two drinks, Callie took one in exchange for a quick peck. Handing the margarita over to Lexie, she said over the music, "You have some catching up to do."

Lexie thanked her and took a deep swallow from the salted glass. Pushing all thoughts of Drs. Slaon and Wyatt from her mind, she bounced over to Izzie, who was doing her impression of the "Elaine" dance from _Seinfeld_ for others to grade.

Izzie smiled gleefully and Lexie, not for the first time, wondering how exactly George had not been able to muster up sexual chemistry with a blonde goddess. "Meredith's getting married!" she crowed.

Lexie didn't answer or correct the other woman by informing her the bride was already married. She hated secrets. She took another drink and found her sister.

"I'm guessing you haven't told anyone."

Meredith gave her a slight grimace and crooked her finger for Lexie to come closer. "I'm dancing it out."

"Is it bad form to have a bachelorette party when you're already married?"

She pulled a face. "I have no idea." Sighing, she weaved her arms in some sort of dance move. "I'm hoping dancing will enlighten me. Dancing and boozing."

Lexie looked at her dubiously. "Sounds like a great plan," she said, her voice dry.

Meredith's brow rose. "I'm sure dancing and boozing will reveal the path to Mark's pants," she predicted with all the sageness of the Dalai Lama.

"Shut up." Lexie scowled, taking a draught out of her glass. "The booze has already failed on that account."

Cristina joined them, her curly hair flying as she danced. Meredith turned to her. "I haven't written my vows yet," she admitted, ducking her head to the music, her hair falling over her face is a fine curtain.

"You'll think of something," Lexie reassured.

"Don't write them on your arm," Cristina warned, her slim hips twisting. As she continued to dance, the hem of her sweater rose above her jeans, revealing a band of fair skin.

"I'm going to tell him that I love him more…" Meredith stopped dancing, her eyes somber as she spoke to other women. "More than all the whipples in the world."

Cristina nodded as she mulled it over, then picked up her drink from the table. "That's actually not bad."

Lexie made a mental note to go over some romantic words with Izzie before tomorrow.

The doorbell rang. Callie, closest to the door, answered it.

It was a cop, his face pinched in an expression of supreme annoyance. "Who's house is this?" he demanded. Someone had the foresight to kill the music. The sudden silence was almost deafening.

"Hers," they all said in unison. Meredith stumbled forward, too drunk to look contrite.

"Ma'am, we've gotten about three noise complaints in the past hour." He continued even as she opened her mouth to answer. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to write you up."

Cristina grinned, bopping her shoulders to unheard music as she swayed over to him. "How 'bout you just arrest us, _officer_." She plucked the hat from his head and pulled it over her hair. "Take it off, baby boy," she crowed, punctuating each word.

Someone turned the music back on. Izzie ran to find a camera and Meredith just looked stunned. "You hired a stripper?" she asked of no one in particular. Lexie watched as Arizona and Callie, each armed with fistfuls of ones, danced around the policeman, egging him on with catcalls.

The officer looked perturbed as he detangled himself from Cristina's lean arms. "Ma'am," he said sternly. "I assure you this isn't a joke." He reached behind him for a pad of pink slips.

Izzie nabbed them from his grasp. "Ooo," she said. "Impressive. Very realistic," she reassured him, nodding. "There's the bride." She shoved him toward Meredith, who now had a ridiculous amount of bows and ribbons and confetti on her hair. "Now dance."

Lexie heard movement from the back door. She left the living room as Arizona slapped the cop's butt. Distracted by the retrieval of his notepad, he nearly jumped a mile high.

"Uh….guys?" Lexie asked when she returned, a muscled man in a skin-tight cop uniform trailing behind her. "Um…"

All the women swiveled their heads between the visitor in taut shorts and the enraged officer near the front door. "Oh God," Izzie said, swallowing hard. She handed him back his pink slips. "Officer, I am so, so sorry."

Cristina slowly replaced his hat. "Very sorry."

"You ladies realize I could take you in for this?" They all nodded contritely. "That you could be fined and jailed for the night?" They nodded once more.

"Please, Officer," Izzie implored, her brown eyes strategically huge. "We just wanted to throw our friend a bachelorette party."

Callie cleared her throat, striving for propriety. The effect was hindered by her swaying. "I assure you, we are all respectable surgeons."

He shook his head. "I'm afraid that's not good enough." He tucked his notepad in his back pocket. "You see, I represent the long arm of the law." With a lewd gesture south of his belt, he turned to Meredith. "I'm going to have to take _you_ downtown." In one swift move, he pinned his hat on her head and then used his pelvis to push her into a nearby chair.

They all gaped at the spectacle. The other stripper, clad in shorts, began gyrating around Callie and Arizona.

"Who hired the strippers?" Cristina called above the din.

"I did," Lexie and Izzie said in unison. They turned to each other in surprise and continued over each other: "You did? I thought I had to."

Cristina rolled her eyes. "Brilliant."

_Last night I dreamed I held you in my arms_

_The music was never-ending_

Around two the morning, the pant-wielding stripper left. The one in shorts also tried to leave. Unfortunately, no one could find the keys he'd used to handcuff himself to Meredith. They uprooted the living room, turning over cushions and furniture.

"Uh—I have Bio class at eight, so if we could get this going…" the stripper said, his voice hesitant.

Callie gaped at him. "How old are you?" The words came out as more of an accusation than a question.

"Twenty-three," he said. "I'm a senior."

Callie rolled her eyes, but Arizona was kinder. "What are you studying?"

"Biological Sciences." He smiled, one cheek dimpling. Lexie imagined he got tipped well, poor taste in clothes notwithstanding. Sighing, she overturned yet another cushion. "I'm applying to med school."

Cristina rolled her eyes. "Don't."

The stripper merely looked confused. Meredith tried to explain, her speech slightly slurred. Apparently, Lexie was now the only one who hadn't given up the quest for the missing keys. "We're doctors," she said.

The stripper looked at Meredith with keen interest. "Oh, yeah?" he asked, his smile blatantly suggestive. "Maybe we could—"

Cristina let out a noise of disgust, and reached over to jerk up Meredith's tied hand. The motion caused the stripper's hand to fly upward as well, slapping his own face with a stinging sound. "She's getting married, you idiot." Scowling, she looked around the room. "Which one of you geniuses hired him anyway?" Her eyes landed on Izzie.

The blonde looked offended. "Don't look at me, I hired the one who had LoJack on his keys."

The stripper glared at them. "I'm right here, you know."

Cristina glowered back. "We know. That's the problem."

Meredith waved her hands, inadvertently waving one of his as well. "Let's all calm down; we'll find the keys."

Callie frowned. "And if we can't? Then what?"

Meredith looked at Callie and then up at the stripper. "He can walk behind me down the aisle. And I'll tell Derek he followed me home. Can I keep him?" Finding herself hilarious, she dissolved into laughter.

Cristina turned to Lexie. "What kind of agency did you call?"

Lexie turned defensive as she gestured to his barely there underwear. He had yet to put his shorts back on. "I didn't know he'd…he'd be…be so…."

"Naked?" Arizona filled in helpfully.

Callie's brows arched as she found her sarcasm. "He's a stripper, Lexie, it's what they do. You don't pay them to do your taxes."

Cristina turned to the stripper. "Seriously? You want to save lives and you can't keep track of keys?"

Izzie tapped her chin as she mused aloud, "Maybe we should cut it off."

The stripper looked panicked. "Cut what off?"

Callie looked disgusted. "The handcuffs, genius."

Relief swept across his handsome face. "Oh."

Lexie turned to Izzie. "What do we use to cut them off?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Hedge clippers?"

Arizona chimed in. "Even if we separate them, she'll still have half of it around her wrist."

"It's better than having a naked man attached to her," Izzie said.

"Plus, we could pass it off as a trendy bracelet," Meredith added happily, shaking the metal around her hand as she lifted her wrist. When the others looked at her, she said, "Maybe not."

At three, Callie and Arizona left upon Lexie's insistence that not all of them needed to suffer, especially since they'd already searched the entire living room.

By six in the morning, Izzie found the keys in an empty margarita glass. Sober and exhausted, Cristina tried to kick him out immediately. He was reluctant to leave, however, his eyes on Meredith as he said goodbye. "So maybe…"

Lexie could hardly laugh as she threw herself onto the couch. The sleep deprivation from the past two nights had taken their toll and the back of her eyes burned. She closed them briefly, shutting out the image of Izzie next to her and Cristina near the front door.

Cristina gave him a shove out the door. "She's marrying a neurosurgeon, Champ." Her hand on the door, she said, "Don't quit your night job." Then she swung it shut.

It opened a moment later. Meredith rounded on the entrant, prepared to tell the stripper to get a clue as well as pants that left at least something to the imagination. The sight of Derek holding coffee and a pink box stopped her.

He looked around at four weary faces in confusion. Letting out a strangled laugh, he handed Meredith her coffee. "Long night?" he asked, smiling.

Izzie stood up. Lexie didn't know how she had managed it. "Are those bagels?"

Lexie stood as well, right behind Izzie as they snatched the box away from Derek. Happy to still have his hands, Derek left them to give Meredith a kiss. "My mother's looking forward to tonight," he said against her hair.

Mouth full of bread, Lexie's eyes met her sister's, whose discomfort was apparent. "Me too," she heard Meredith say.

_We danced as the evening sky faded to black_

_One step up and two steps back_

**AN: Please review! The next chapter is pretty Mark-Lexie intensive, so I wanted to get some good "women of SGH" material in there, reminiscent of the earlier times of this story.**

"**One Step Up" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen.**


	19. Tougher than the Rest

**AN: This chapter is kind of obscenely long. I hope it remains interesting and not tedious. Do let me know what you think! I've been waiting forever to write this chapter (and use this song!) **

"**Tougher than the Rest" is very evocative and very, very physical….Anyway, enough rambling, more Slexie.**

Chapter Nineteen: Tougher than the Rest

_Well, it's Saturday night_

_You're all dressed up in blue_

The guest closet was stuffed with clothes belonging to her predecessors. It seemed that everyone had, at one point, lived in this room. Lexie thought she found the gauzy material of her black cocktail dress and yanked hard. She stumbled back from the closet door with a ratty collared shirt in her hands.

"I think that used to be Alex's," Izzie said from the doorway.

Lexie sighed and turned to the blonde. She tossed it in her general direction. "By all means, take it."

Izzie frowned at the material. It was hard to tell what color it had been originally. "Are you kidding? Do you know how long it took to "accidentally" lose it?" Opening a nearby dresser drawer, she buried it inside. "Do you need some help?"

Lexie's voice was muffled since, by this point, she was half-swallowed by the closet as she tried to separate hangars. "I think this closet ate my dress."

Stepping over a pile of strange clothes Lexie had wrangled out and discarded, Izzie came to stand behind her. "Here," she said, flicking her wrist and pushing half of the hangars flush against the wall.

Lexie used the minimal space that had cleared up to examine the clothes in the back half of the closet. "I think I—" Her hands brushed against some raspy material. Then something brushed _her_. "Oh!" She jerked away and bumped backwards into Izzie.

"Ow, what? What is it?"

Her breathing unsteady, she shuddered and shook her wrist off. "Spider." Bits of the web clung to her fingers. When she returned from washing her hands, Izzie was still sorting through the clothes.

"Forget it," Lexie said, flopping down on the bed. "I'm not going back in there. The spiders can have my dress."

Izzie pulled out a blue dress she recognized as hers and tossed it on the bed next to Lexie as a reminder to take it back with her. "We'll find something."

"If I get sick in the next…" Lexie paused to look at the alarm clock, "…thirty minutes, I wouldn't have to go, right?"

The other woman laughed. "Trust me, you do not want to miss tonight. Another dinner with Meredith running around trying to avoid Mrs. Shephard is the kind of entertainment not found in theatres."

Lexie heaved herself up into a seated position. "You were at dinner last night?"

Izzie rolled her eyes and threw a pair of dusty pants on the floor. "Unfortunately. Meredith asked everyone just to get bodies and I was the only one who showed."

She was terrible at hording secrets. Trying to avoid direct eye contact, she fished for information. "How was it?"

"Meredith kept running into the kitchen to avoid her. Of course, since she doesn't know where anything actually is, I had to help her. So Derek was pretty much on a date with his mom." Izzie wrinkled her nose at a few other choices in the closet, but perseverance was her strong suit and she kept searching. "Personally, I think Meredith should just tell her already. Or decide not to tell her and act like a normal human being. Either way, if she keeps this up, Mrs. Shephard is going to think she's a wackjob with access to scalpels."

Lexie narrowed her eyes. "So…you know…about…" Rather than actually give anything away, she angled her head here and there, hoping to make Izzie fill in the blinks.

She was not disappointed. "About the elopement? Despite all of our hard work? Yeah, she told me and Cristina after the stripper left."

"You're right," Lexie said, her indignation rising with the rest of her as she stood. "We _did_ work hard. I mean, you had paper cuts from all those invitations.

Izzie emphatically nodded her understanding. "You nearly died at the cake-tasting when they mislabeled the eggless ones."

Gaining steam, Lexie added, "And do we get thanked?"

"No! We're not even asked to be witnesses." Izzie shook her head. "Typical Meredith."

They stared at each other for a while. "Still…" Izzie said after a moment, drawing out the word. "She _did_ get married."

"Plus, now we don't have to worry about a runaway bride situation."

Izzie nodded. "Word."

_I been watchin' you awhile_

_Maybe you been watchin' me too_

Two hours later, the two of them had poured Lexie into an unearthed red dress sans any spiders. Neither of them could identify its owner, but they both agreed it fit and didn't carry the distinct scent of mothballs.

Mark was already at the circular table, seated on the other side of Derek's mother. His arm draped around Carolyn's chair, he murmured something that made her smile and slap his shoulder in a chiding gesture of warmth. The angle of his head as he spoke to the older woman made his eyes collide almost instantly with Lexie's when she entered with Izzie.

While Izzie immediately found her seat next to Alex, Lexie averted her eyes and took a moment to curse the wedding party for adding up to a whopping total of eight guests. It made avoiding Mark an impossible feat.

Callie and Bailey were working and Meredith hadn't invited Thatcher. Months ago, when Lexie's invitation to be a part of her own ill-fated wedding had gone ignored, they had tacitly agreed to drop him as a subject. In retrospect, it would have been a further humiliation to have her drunk father witness her lowest moment.

She took a seat between Cristina and Izzie and reached for her water glass, taking care to angle her head to the left. With only Alex and Izzie serving as a buffer between her and Mark, she could still make him out. The broad line of his suit snuck into her line of vision if she didn't train her eyes at an awkward diagonal.

She missed Callie more than she had ever thought possible. And not just to give Izzie quelling looks at her more outlandish suggestions. No, Callie would have sat next to Mark, she would have entertained him and kept him from staring at Lexie over the rim of his glass. Callie's presence would have made it a hell of lot less warm in the damn restaurant. Lexie drank her water faster, not bothering to stop even when her cheeks filled with more ice than liquid.

It was then she, as well as the rest of the table, heard snippets of Meredith and Derek's hushed, yet earnest, conversation. Their heads angled together, the urgency of their differing opinions soon escalated. They began talking over each other, turning their voices into stage whispers.

"Later," Derek muttered.

"Now," Meredith snapped back. Her voice lowered and Lexie couldn't hear the rest of her sentence, but the dour look on Meredith's face and in Derek's eyes was anything but reassuring. The rest of the table was inordinately keen on commenting on how lovely the dinner looked.

"I'd like to propose a toast to the happy couple," Mark interrupted, clinking his knife to his glass as he stood. The wry quality of his tone wasn't missed and the table tittered.

_So somebody ran out_

_Left somebody's heart in a mess_

It was somewhere in the middle of the lamb entrée that Meredith lost it.

Standing up, napkin gripped tightly in her fist, she kept her eyes trained on the centerpiece. "I can't."

The table went quiet, except Alex. "I knew it." He turned to Cristina. "Five bucks," he demanded.

Izzie slapped his arm and hissed, "She doesn't mean the wedding, you idiot."

Derek stood as well, touching his fiancé's elbow. "You're being selfish," he warned.

Meredith twisted out of his grip. "Everyone else knows by now." She turned toward Carolyn. "I'm sorry," Meredith continued, as Derek sat down, rubbing his hand over his mouth in clear agitation. "Maybe it's kinder to not tell you, but I've seen you with Derek." She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, her eyes glittering under the lights. "And you think he's…extraordinary. You'd think he was extraordinary whether or not he was a surgeon."

Lexie thought of Ellis and Susan Grey and, not for the first time, felt a peculiar brand of combined gratitude and guilt.

"I—I'm not very good with mothers, but even I know that one like you deserves honesty." She swallowed. "Derek and I…we got married at city hall. I wanted the wedding, I did, just not…the pressure."

Carolyn's slim brows rose in response, but her sharp eyes remained steady on her daughter-in-law. There was no other indication that she had even heard the admission.

"You're right about Derek being extraordinary," Meredith said, glancing down at the man seated. "But for him to grow into the man he is…you must be pretty extraordinary yourself." Her lips twisted as she finished and her tongue flicked out to meet the corner of her mouth. "I understand if you can't forgive me, and that's okay." She dropped her napkin on her seat and gave Derek's hand a short squeeze. "Because you gave me your son."

After excusing herself, Meredith left the banquet hall, her black dress swishing as a dark echo of her exit. Derek and Cristina both stood, but Carolyn stilled them. "Let me," she said, leaving her own napkin on the table.

Then there were six.

_Well, if you're looking for love_

_Honey, I'm tougher than the rest_

"I'll get the check," Derek said with a sigh.

The all too familiar vibration of a pager went off and Alex's hand went to his waistband. He looked faintly grateful. "I'd better get this." He stood and helped Izzie out of her chair.

While Izzie gathered her purse and wrap, an identical buzzing came from the other side of the table. Cristina and Lexie dug into their respective bags. "It's mine," Cristina said.

Lexie didn't stop searching and eventually found her own sleeping pager. She willed it to ring as waiters came by to clear the table.

"You're not on call tonight." Cristina frowned, as if Lexie was acting dumber than usual.

"I know." She stared down the disobedient pager. "But there could be a big trauma."

The three of them made their way to the door. "Tell Derek we're sorry we couldn't stay?" Izzie asked of Mark, who agreed with a gracious inclination of his head.

Then, because God clearly hated her, there were two.

_Well, it ain't no secret, I've been around a time or two_

"Even people with photographic memories can't control electronics," Mark said, his amusement evident.

"I'm not—" Lexie protested before cutting herself off with a sigh. "Actually, I'm glad we're alone."

His brows lifted and a cunning gleam shone in his eyes. "That sounds promising."

She supposed she should be glad the inappropriate teasing was back. It was better than being frozen out. Or called a brat. Smiling in an attempt to accept the olive branch, she delved into more somber topics. "About last night," she began.

He shook his head. Under the flattering lighting of the restaurant, the silver threads of his closely cut hair gleamed. Lexie wondered at what point in her twenty-five years gray hair stopped being old and started being hot. "No," he interrupted. "Let's forget it. I said some things that were out of line and I apologize."

Her eyes widened. "No," she said, leaning closer to the table, her sincerity apparent. "_I'm_ sorry. I was unforgiveable. It's just—"

"Okay, we're both sorry. Let's move on." He smiled at her, flashing her a row of even, white teeth. His eyes crinkled with charm she imagined was tried and true.

Lexie, however, just stared at him. She'd knocked on a therapist's door, one who now had adequate grounds to believe she was a psycho copycat of her older sister, based on words he wanted to breeze over?

Gritting her teeth, she spoke slowly, taking care not to raise her voice. She had a feeling yelling would belie the truce they'd just reached. "I had a whole bit prepared. The least you could do is listen."

Taking in the tense line of her jaw, he opened his palm toward her for her to continue.

She cleared her throat and started, "I know it's unfair of me to take out my anger on you. I just haven't been myself since…" She inhaled and spit out the name she'd been avoiding. "Since George left.

"You were right: I've been a complete brat. And you've been a very good friend despite that." She smiled wanly. "You didn't even try anything in your hotel room. God knows if you had, I'd've probably have found a way to yell at you about that, too."

He held her gaze, but didn't smile back. Unsure of how to finish, she added awkwardly, "And I'm sorry for calling you a misogynistic bastard."

Mark nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry for calling you a raging bitch."

She frowned. "You didn't."

He smiled then, his boyish grin doing several things to her insides. She reached for her wine. "I did," he confessed. "Several times on the way back to my hotel." He titled his head as if to recollect. "Actually, that was probably the nicest—"

She waved her hand to truncate undoubtedly unflattering list. "It's okay," she said. "I don't need to know."

"Hey." Derek arrived at the table, clearly frazzled. "Can you drop Mark off? He came with me and I need to check on Meredith and my mother."

Even as she nodded, Derek was already walking past her toward the doors everyone else had left through.

Lexie looked down at the naked table. She had barely taken two bites throughout dinner. First, her appetite had been stifled by apprehension over where she stood with Mark. Then her sister had decided to enter the running for worst rehearsal dinner speech ever.

Mark looked at her and then down at his own empty placemat. "I'm starving," he finally said.

As if she had been waiting with bated breath, she let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping. "Oh, thank God," she rushed out. "I need a cheeseburger."

_I don't know, baby, maybe you've been around too_

He ended up driving while she called her sister's number. It was more of an exercise in solidarity than anything else and Lexie wasn't all that surprised when it went to voicemail.

"There's a McDonald's on 5th and Main, right?" he asked, handling the wheel with one palm while he adjusted the automated mirrors. Her demands for a burger had outvoiced his suggestion that they find another restaurant.

In the end, they ended up at a hot dog shack because Lexie insisted her stomach had entered starvation mode and was eating itself. Rather than debate the physical impossibility of her claim, he pulled over and they found themselves entirely overdressed for the venue.

She sat at the end of the booth and scooted over, the backs of her thighs sticking to the cracked vinyl. Mark looked at the other end dubiously before seating himself. He stared up at the ceiling as if convinced it could rain down on them at any moment.

"Have you been here before?" he asked, hoping for some credibility.

"Nope," she said, tapping the card on their table as they waited for their order. A large upside down five stared at him.

When the waiter came, he handed them red trays piled so high with chili it was difficult to make out the actual hot dog.

She picked hers up, taking care to replace a stray jalapeño before raising it to her lips. Mark refrained from mentioning the massive amounts of chili that slid down from either side of the bread. Before eating, she gave him a pointed look and he admitted defeat by picking up his own hot dog monstrosity.

They bit down in unison, their eyes on each other. He watched her cheeks puff out, her eyes huge above the neat row of jalapeños. He chewed and swallowed, reaching for his plastic cup of water.

It wasn't the classiest meal he'd ever had, nor was it the best. But even he had to admit, when one was starving, it tasted damn good. So good, in fact, he wasn't even worried about how he'd be suffering later when his almost forty stomach rebelled against being treated like it was nineteen.

Occupied with his water, he barely noticed Lexie's eyes widen to unnatural proportions. She fanned her mouth for half a second before lunging over to grab the cup from his mouth. Spilling half its contents on her way, she gulped down the remnants before he could blink.

He stared at her while she continued to flap her hands as a cooling device. Redder than any apple he'd come across, she panted, the remainder of her hot dog discarded on the tray. Miserable and coated with a thin sheen of perspiration, she leaned back against the vinyl in exhaustion.

"Well, who told you to get the _En Fuego_ Special?" he demanded.

_The road is dark and it's a thin, thin line_

"It's not raining," he said, half-awed as he looked up into the clear night.

"It happens from time to time," she replied, amused by his still stricken expression. Her tongue still burned, but pressing it against the roof of her mouth eased the pain.

"Last time I was here, I don't think I saw one dry day."

Lexie smiled. "Maybe you came at the wrong time."

He looked down at her, his eyes falling to the thin, red straps of her dress against the smooth expanse of her shoulders. They momentarily dipped to the gold necklace she wore. Then he nodded, his next words heavy with meaning. "Maybe I did."

She broke away from his gaze, biting her lower lip as she considered whether or not to ask. "You wanna go for a walk?"

Hands tucked into his trouser pockets and pushing back his jacket, he agreed. "Can't waste a clear night in Seattle."

After a few moments of staying on the sidewalk, she steered him away from the road and closer to the side that veered into a park. She made a beeline for the grass, leaving him on the paved footpath.

"Oh, God," she groaned, undoing the straps of her heels. Wiggling her toes in the dark grass, Lexie hooked her fingers around her shoes and motioned for him to keep walking alongside her.

It was impossible not to comment on how she was noticeably shorter now. "You really are little, aren't you?"

She scowled. Tipping her head back, she looked up into the inky sky. "It really is a clear night, huh?"

"Stars," he said. "You never see those in Manhattan."

"Come on." She took his arm with her free hand and pulled him onto the grass with her.

"Where're we going?"

They left the lit path of concrete further and further away as Lexie led him under the darker shadows of where trees stood. Grass, he noticed, was strangely ominous when you couldn't see its bright color.

She made him take off his jacket and give it to her. Once he obeyed, she spread it on the grass and pressed her back against it, looking up at him to do the same. He remained motionless for a moment, taking in the stark contrast of the dark ground and his coat to the pale luminance of her bare skin. He could make out the glow of her arms and upper chest, the shape of her calves.

Then he sat down and lowered himself back, his head resting next to hers. Neither of them knew any constellations, but Lexie pretended she still had them memorized from grade school. He fell for it for precisely two minutes, until she used a passing airplane to map out the Big Dipper.

After that, they just pointed out whatever connect-the-dots type shapes the stars could make. His patterns were invariably dirty. Hers were famous people with huge noses.

She had just found Ringo Starr, slapping his index finger away when he outlined his fourth dildo in a row, when it began raining.

_But I want you to know I'll walk it for you anytime_

Lexie laughed and yelped simultaneously as they sat up bolt right. Trying to scramble up, her bare foot slipped on the now slick grass and she fell back, her stomach aching from all her giggling.

Mark, now standing, bent over to help her. "It's not rain," he said, his voice a low growl.

Once on her feet, she realized what he had meant. The sprinklers had turned on. The one clear night in Seattle they'd probably have for the next five weeks and sprinklers accosted them. Irony, she thought as she reached down for his jacket, was often irritating.

She heard a commotion in the darkness behind her. Lexie turned to find him flat on the grass, moaning as he held his lower back. Dissolving into another round of giggles, she grabbed his hands and yanked him up.

Though completely drenched, the inclination to run for cover had not lost any urgency. They made it halfway up the rounded curve toward the cement before Lexie stopped. "My shoes!" she shouted over the hiss of water.

She turned back, no longer bothering to dodge the cold spray coming from every angle. He followed her and together they searched the dark ground for the metallic gleam of her gold heels.

"I think I found—" His words were cut off by a low oomph as the wind was knocked out of his body. "Never mind."

He had collided into a tree and Lexie could feel tears on her cheeks mingling with the water. She laughed harder as he found his way back to her, his hands as devoid of footwear as hers.

Even in the darkness, she could make out the glint of his light eyes. The rest of his body, clad in a black shirt and gray slacks melted into the night, but his eyes practically glowed. Her laughter died as he came closer.

"You have…" he trailed off, gesturing to her for a second before letting his fingertips brush against the damp skin below her collarbone. Goosebumps emerged as if by command. "Grass," he finished.

She swallowed thickly. There was a sudden dearth of oxygen. She blinked away rivulets of water. This was where she'd fallen into trouble before. The kissing. The kissing was bad news. It was entirely too blinding and too muddling. It complicated things and led precisely nowhere…unless you could count a shrink's office as somewhere.

She'd learned the other night that the safe way to keep Mark around without losing her sanity was to compartmentalize him. He'd liked her, he'd said. As in past tense. Furthermore, the tentative truce they'd formed at dinner was entirely too green to risk spoiling. Not to mention the fact that they were doing fine as friends; no venomous words had been flung thus far.

No, there were about a million reasons not to engage in this kind of recycled foreplay.

Lexie cleared her throat and took a tiny step backward, just enough to remove her skin from his touch. Her ankle brushed against something that was not foliage. Using it as an excuse to put more space between them, she moved to pick up her shoe. "I found one," she said, smiling in a way she hoped was friendly and not forced.

When she looked at him, she didn't immediately see what he was holding. Instead, her eyes first zeroed in on the way his black shirt molded to his upper body. Cursing and thanking the sprinklers in equal parts, her eyes roamed over his torso to his arms. Then, she saw her shoe's lost twin.

"Oh," she said, extending her free hand. "Thank you."

But he didn't make a move to bring it to her. He merely said, "Little Grey," in the husky way he had said it in Meredith's kitchen so long ago. Like one of Pavlov's dogs, an immediate association leapt to mind. Hers, however, was the anticipation of being kissed.

Immobile, she stared at him, unsure of whether or not to risk coming closer to retrieve her shoe. Her hair, worn loose, had collected water and was releasing its excess down her bare back in chilly rivers. She shivered, not entirely from the cold.

"I don't want to fight with you," she finally said, her shoulders lifting helplessly.

"I wasn't planning on fighting with you."

"I know." She nodded, using her hand to saw through the air between them. "But with us, it…_this_ leads to fighting." Lexie gave him a tentative smile . "And we—we're doing so well." She gestured with one shoe and one open palm to the dark park around them, referring to night they'd shared without insulting each other.

He took a step closer and she stiffened. Pausing, he let out his breath. The noise of the sprinklers covered the sound, but she saw the width of his chest collapse with the motion. When he backtracked, maintaining the original distance between them, her spine relaxed.

"Okay," he said.

She smiled her relief. "Okay." With that burden off her mind, she was able to focus on the arc of water drumming against her stomach. She stepped out of the line of fire, the silk of the dress pasted to her body. Good thing it had come from the closet of orphaned clothes. "Let's get out of here."

The looping pathway was behind him and Lexie walked over, her lone shoe bouncing against her thigh. He held out its twin and she accepted it with a smile. Long fingers slid over her wrists, his thumbs making identical imprints over her pulse points.

In the split second it took his mouth to lower onto hers, she tried in vain to remember at least one of the million reasons she'd listed earlier. Instead, her numbed hands released the shoes. They bounced on the grass and one bumped against her foot, though she barely felt it, her nerves far more occupied on the way Mark was kissing her.

_Maybe your other boyfriends couldn't pass the test_

His mouth tasted of water and brisk air. Pulling her hands free from his, she slid them up the wet fabric of his dress shirt. The heat of his skin was discernable beneath the cold material, but it was suddenly too far away. While his hands cradled her jaw and neck, hers found the waistband of his slacks. Her palms searched for him and, once successful, pressed against the smooth skin of his back.

Somewhere in her throat, she let out a mewl of satisfaction. It was like drowning and finding air at the same time. She raked her nails against his lower back and he pressed against her. Still on bare feet, she took two steps back and felt the uneven bark of a tree dig into her skin. Sandwiched between his body and the tree trunk, his fingers gripped her hair and tipped her head back. The world spinning behind her eyelids, her hands tightened on him for balance.

Encouraged, the backs of his fingers slid down her shoulders, skimmed the sides of her frame and found the hem of her dress. Hitching it up with an urgency that bordered on clumsiness, he had just grazed her thigh when light exploded in front of her closed eyes.

Lexie moved to push herself away from him, evidence of her mortification creeping up her cheeks, but Mark kept her close, his body shielding hers from the intrusion.

The floodlight made it impossible to see who was behind it, yet the owner had no qualms about making his point. "The park's closed!" someone snapped. "This isn't the backseat of your car. Get a room."

Laughter founded on incredulity bubbled up in her throat and when Mark grabbed her hand, Lexie ran with him, stumbling shortly as she snatched up her shoes. Her bare feet slapped out a dull rhythm against the pavement and her stomach ached, but they didn't stop running until after they'd left the park's borders.

She used him as a wall when they stopped in front of a café, their breathing erratic. Balancing on each foot in turn, she slid her shoes back on. Their reflection greeted her in the café's windows. With her hair in wet disarray around her shoulders and her make up long gone, she looked like a ridiculously formal homeless person. She noticed, however, that despite being jacketless and drenched, Mark just looked like a part of themed photo shoot.

He opened the door for her and followed her in. The few patrons sitting at tables all gaped at them as they squished their way over to the counter, water left behind them like breadcrumbs. A teenager clad in an apron stared at them with alarm. "Is it raining?" he asked.

Mark looked down at Lexie and she met his gaze with a deadpan of her own. "Nope," they said in unison.

_There's another dance, all you gotta do is say 'yes'_

Later, she dropped him at his hotel, feeling clammy and in dire need of a shower. Her skin was dry, but her dress was not. The combination was a sticky discomfort that was nowhere near sexy. He turned in the passenger seat, a few of his fingers crooked around the door handle.

"This was nice," he said. "You. Sober."

She gave him a sheepish smile. "And dressed," she added wryly.

Squinting at her out of the corner of one blue eye, he disagreed.

Lexie blushed, her hands still on the wheel for lack of anything else to do. "Good night," she said.

"I'll see you tomorrow." He left the car and turned to lean his elbows on the open window frame.

Lexie lifted her chin toward the hotel. "Is Derek waiting for his bachelor party?"

Mark smiled. "Not much of a bachelor anymore, is he?"

She sighed. "No, I suppose not." She realized that despite the dramatic turn of events, they hadn't spoken of Meredith or the Shephards all night. "Do you think she's all right?"

"Mrs. Shephard wasn't a huge fan of Addison, but she didn't stand in the way of their marriage." He shrugged. "She's not that kind of mother."

Intrigued, she asked, "She didn't like Addison?"

Mark grinned, reaching across the car to tweek her nose. "Shame on you, digging for gossip." His fingers lingered on the curve of her cheekbone before falling to rest on the windowpane once more. "Let's just say she knew Addy wasn't the one for him." Here his face twisted into an expression she couldn't read. Then his brow cleared and he pushed himself away from the car. "Drive safely."

There was a withdrawal in his voice she recognized all too well: the heavy seclusion of one who cannot be fully engaged in the present due to a lingering past. Because suffering the company of unwanted ghosts was familiar to her, empathy compelled her to leave him with more than just painful memories. As she started the car again, she quipped, "If you hired a stripper, take away her handcuffs, will you?"

As she left the hotel driveway, she could hear him laughing. She realized it was the first time since she'd met Mark that she'd left him feeling entirely satisfied. There were no inadequacies, no niggling dread that she lacked some fundamental component as a woman. All this time, she had attributed that empty feeling to the absence of physical gratification. She realized validation of her desirability didn't hinge on the act itself.

It remained to be seen what exactly had changed, what nuance in their relationship had shifted. All she knew was that for the first time in a long time, she sang along to the radio on the way home.

_So if you're rough enough for love_

_Honey, I'm tougher than the rest_

**AN: Please review! **

"**Tougher than the Rest" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen.**


	20. I'm on Fire

**AN: Whew, okay so here it is! Slightly elevated maturity rating…need I say more? =) Enjoy! **

Chapter Twenty: I'm on Fire

_Hey, little girl, is your daddy home?_

Only moderately exhausted, the bride pulled on her white gown the morning of her wedding. Izzie did her makeup while grilling her on the vows she'd just conjured. Cristina had managed to get out of doing anything remotely helpful, instead she stood near the door under the guise of keeping people out.

"…it was then I knew—"

"It wasn't until later I knew!" Izzie corrected, her voice impatient. "Think, Meredith! The first time you saw him was through a horny, tequila haze. The love part didn't come until later."

Cristina let out a snort of laughter. "Yeah, around the time you found out he was married."

Lexie tried to tie the bouquets once more, the ribbons working against her and time.

Meredith rotated her head to glare at Cristina, but Izzie grabbed her chin and turned her back toward her mirror. Armed with a brush, she stood poised above the seated bride.

Meredith sighed her annoyance. "I'm already married, the jig is up."

Still manning the door, Cristina said, "That's true."

"It matters!" Izzie said sharply. "The woman gave you her ring. The holy grail of rings." Her voice adopted a conspiratorial tone without lowering at all. "The ring she did _not_ give Addison," she added matter-of-factly. "The least you could do is give her some nice vows to hear since you up and got married behind all our backs," she finished pointedly, her grip on the eyelash curler suddenly threatening.

"Damn," Lexie said for the fourth time, watching the array unravel. "Meredith, just walk down the aisle with one flower. I hear sparse is in."

Meredith didn't response, but Izzie did, her brown eyes shooting up from the work she was doing on Meredith's eyelids. "Use a rubberband, then cover it with the ribbon."

Lexie frowned at she stared down at the disobedient flowers. "Oh." She had not been responsible for the bouquets at the last wedding she'd been to—her own. She felt a wave of sympathy for bridesmaids everywhere and resigned herself to trying again.

_Did he go away and leave you all alone_

An hour later, all of them under the roof of the church, the music began and Lexie was the first to make her way down the aisle. Her lavender gown rustled against her legs as she walked. There was an advantage to bridesmaids planning the wedding: there were no hideous bows or tulle, just sleek, simple gowns.

There were many familiar faces in the pews. She tried not to think of the fact that all these people had, at one point, been seated for her own wedding, waiting for a moment not unlike this one. She tried not to think of their faces when someone had informed them no one would be walking down the aisle that day. She tried not to think of the pitying thoughts they were sending her way as she moved past them. Her fixed smile congealing, she inhaled and pinned it back.

Ten pews left and she felt zapped of all energy.

Her heart thrummed and she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, they found Mark's. From his vantage point next to Derek, he gave her a slight smile. There was warmth behind the silence, warmth that made it possible to feel her toes as she walked, the cool stalks around her fingers, the heat of her hair against her bare shoulders. She smiled back at him, the motion gentle rather than big, and walked closer, her steps timed and sure. His gaze was steady as it carried her the rest of the way.

When she finally finished the journey, Izzie and Cristina behind her as they took their places near the altar, she looked down at her lavender and white bouquet. A moment later, the music changed and it was Meredith's turn to walk. Lexie saw a brief flash of white, but her eyes were drawn to the man across the aisle, whose eyes, she found, had never wavered from her.

_I got a bad desire_

_O-o-oh, I'm on fire_

At the reception, Mark danced with her without asking, merely setting her champagne glass down and leading her to the floor.

The music was slow and their movement was minimal, barely a sway with the rest of the couples on the floor of the Archfield banquet hall. Yet, despite the appearance of inactivity, Lexie felt heat overwhelm her body. The additional heat thrumming from him gave her no quarter. The air flowing through her nostrils was insufficient; she parted her lips and breathed in greedily.

She rested her hand on his shoulder, the other ensconced within his larger palm. His fingers traced idle patterns on the small of her back and she could feel his touch so vividly, her dress might as well have been imaginary.

As they danced, she kept her eyes on his lapel and the half-bloomed rose housed there. She'd made the mistake of looking at him earlier that day, while the wedding party had been photographed. He'd gruffed out a comment to hurry it all up and everyone had laughed. She'd been no exception, turning her neck to look at him. Her laughter had died upon meeting his eyes. Naked arousal had been etched in every feature; it had been blatant in the slight flare of his nostrils, the heat of his eyes.

Lexie had looked away and turned toward the camera, unsure of how to respond. No man had ever looked at her like that. Like she was edible. Like he was starving.

_Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull_

Now that they were actually touching, she was hesitant to take it too far and dispel the quiet chaos they'd created between them. It was basic chemistry, really. One had to swirl in the solution one drop at a time or risk rendering the entire experiment unsalvageable. So she kept her touch light and stiff, her eyes lowered and prayed for that delightfully pale purple color that signaled success.

For once in her overly verbose, nervous chatter-filled life, it was perfectly natural to keep quiet. She focused on the rasp of his jacket beneath her fingertips, the scent of lemon and warm skin that he always seemed wrapped in. Her pulse quickened and she knew he could probably see it beat against the skin at the base of her throat.

When yet another slow song began, she bit the bullet and shifted in his arms, pressing her cheek against the space near his shoulder. His hand tightened around hers, lifting it to his neck before finding her waist.

Though she battled with the decision for a while, when she finally curled her fingers around his short hair, the movement was fluid, idle almost. He stiffened against her, his fingertips digging into the skin of her hips. Lexie pulled back, uncertain of whether or not she had made him uncomfortable; added to much at once and ended up with the dark purple of failure.

Hoping to alleviate the situation, she said casually, "Beautiful wedding."

He made a noise of agreement low in this throat. "Looks like you were right though."

"About what?"

"City hall."

She laughed. "And Mrs. Shephard still gave her the ring." She shook her head, the sprig of flowers pinned in her hair moving with her. "Talk about lucky."

"I don't think luck has anything to do with it."

Shooting him a dubious look, she asked, "Then what?"

He tugged on her and she was against his chest again, her head tucked under his chin. "She just saw what Derek had known for a while," Mark said, his voice quiet.

She closed her eyes and felt the vibrations under her cheek. Lulled into comfort, her voice was lazy when she asked, "Which is?"

"That's she's the one."

She didn't have a response to that. So she just inhaled his scent and continued swaying. He said, "Nice job choosing the dresses."

Lexie laughed. "Izzie helped. We vetoed bows on butts."

"Good choice," he said casually. "Makes it easier to decide which bridesmaid to sleep with if you can see assets clearly." His palm roamed over the area in question and Lexie's eyes widened, slapping his upper arm.

_And cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my skull_

His voice interrupted her trance as he said gruffly, "You look lovely, Little Grey."

Her eyes opened though she kept her head nestled under his. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"I should tell you…" he started.

"Hmm?" she hummed, the heat from his skin warming her cheek through his charcoal suit.

"I don't want to be your friend, Lexie."

She stopped swaying, bringing his body to a halt against hers. Her face still hidden from him, she closed her eyes. Something rolled through her, starting in her throat and rippling through her until it stopped somewhere low in her abdomen. She wasn't sure if it was relief or anxiety, but it was delicious and terrifying all at once.

"That night," he continued, almost conversationally, "I told you I'd been patient and it's true, I have been waiting. I didn't want to start something you weren't ready for. And you weren't ready, Lexie, no matter what you told me."

She listened, scarcely breathing out of fear she'd miss something vital in his words. Somewhere along the line, they'd started swaying yet again.

"But I also told you I was through being patient." His hands tightened around her waist. "And even though I said a lot of things I didn't mean that night, that wasn't one of them."

_Tell me now, baby, is he good to you?_

_Can he do to you the things that I do?_

Her heartbeat quickened at the implication of his words. Part of her was convinced she'd exhaled at the wrong moment and misheard what he'd said.

Slowly, she leaned back in his arms to look up at him. His jaw was relaxed, but his eyes were intent on her face, searching for the slightest reaction. She swallowed, her throat painfully dry. Her hand slid down the clean line of his shoulder and found his palm, dry and warm. She brushed their palms together and wasn't sure if she felt the rasp of their skin or heard it or both.

She wanted to say something, something of weight and merit. Something worthy of what he'd just expressed to her. Yet words deserted her, leaving her in the middle of a crowded dance floor with nothing but the naked desire she'd harbored for him since the night she'd insulted him in a dive bar.

"Mark," she said instead, the name a reverent whisper on her lips. Then stronger, more insistent: "Mark."

She tightened her grip on his hand and led him through the throng of couples still dancing. They made their way around the ebbing tide of drinking and chatting guests, the buoyant atmosphere of the hall suddenly incongruent with the almost palpable tension between them.

They moved in single file, like a lethargic locomotive, their clasped hands the only link between them. His thumb traced indecipherable patterns along the sensitive skin of her wrist while they extracted themselves from the last of the wedding guests.

Releasing her hand, he pushed the call button for the elevator. They stood next to each other as they waited, all too aware despite a lack of any physical contact. Her body, she realized, consisted entirely of nerves, each of them responding to some silent call he'd issued. Frissons of heat circuited through her as her breathing grew shallow. Next to her, he stood stony-faced, his clenched jaw indicating he wasn't immune to the malady either.

A dull ache spread through her lower abdomen. The urge to touch him was strong and she briefly considered reclaiming his hand. But she didn't know if the slight contact would appease her nerves or make her fall off some cliff she couldn't remember climbing. She wasn't sure if it'd be enough or too much.

She opted to do nothing.

_I can take you higher_

By the time the elevator arrived, an elderly couple and a few businessmen had joined them. Lexie stood against one of the slick elevator walls, her back stiff with anticipation. Her body was perpendicular to Mark's, who stood near one of the adjacent walls. From her angle, she could make out his profile, rigid with the same energy that radiated from her.

The tension must have been obvious to the rest of the elevator's occupants because they all remained silent, the box growing more claustrophobic with each passing floor. Heat rolled off of him, enveloping her to the point where breathing was a chore. For a brief moment, she wondered what the rest of them were thinking. They had to feel it, see it—whatever "it" was had a life force of its own. Lexie's cheeks stained, her lashes arcing down as she lowered her eyes.

As the elevator stopped, Mark shifted to let the elderly couple disembark. The movement caused his hand to graze Lexie's bare arm. A brand of electricity she'd left within the pages of teen novels cackled through her nerves and did nothing to make breathing easier. She felt the touch throughout her spine and actually checked her arm to make sure it hadn't suddenly turned a telltale red.

Even after the businessmen got off, neither of them moved. Standing in silence as they waited for the elevator to make its final stop, they both watched the floor count rise. With a pleasant ping, the automated voice told him their destination as the elevator doors slid open.

Mark had his key card waiting by the time they reached his door. Some manners were inherent, even if his practice was sometimes flawed, and he held the door open for her.

It had barely found its home in the frame with a lifeless click before they reached for each other.

_O-o-oh I'm on fire_

It was physics that they'd end up against the wall of the foyer, just four feet away from the door. They clashed together with a force that spoke of desperation. Lexie, smaller and slimmer, was the object to give way. She stumbled backwards on her stilettoed sandals until the wall stopped her.

It was, however, greed that kept them pinned there. Mark's hands roamed the space of her back, palming the backs of her thighs as he hefted her up higher against the wall and him. When his mouth tore away from hers to sip the skin of her collarbone, she gripped his shoulders for balance, trying to give him help he didn't need by making herself as light as possible.

Within a matter of seconds, she felt his hands under her dress. Sliding up the length of her thighs in twin brands of heat, his hands pushed up the hem of her long dress.

He looked straight into her eyes while his thumbs searched for the band of her underwear. Normally blue, his eyes had blackened. Their breathing, uneven and ragged, mingled in minimal space between them. Her hair had loosened under the flowered clip she wore to the side of her head. She felt a stray strand fall against her cheek. It tickled, but she barely registered the inconvenience.

By then, he had slid her panties down her legs. She felt the gossamer material pool around her right shoe, covering the beaded work over the ankle strap. Lexie tried to shrug it off by arching her foot but stopped when she heard the rasp of his zipper.

_At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet_

Pupils dilated and throat dry, her hands dug into his stiff shoulders when he leaned into her, his mouth finding hers again. The kiss was hardly one of finesse and skill. Instead, it was fervent, seeking to give and take in equal parts. She broke it with a gasp, inhaling sharply when she felt him press further against her under the skirt of her dress.

He groaned, his head resting in the space between her neck and shoulder. All ten of her fingers plowed through his hair, her nails scraping his scalp to keep him exactly as he was. As if answering questions she didn't know she'd voiced, his arms tightened around her waist and across her back, keeping her body against his in a fierce hug. One palm found her nape, the other the niche of her hip.

Her face turned away from him, her cheek rubbing against the texture of the wallpaper as her breathing hitched. His grasp rendered the rest of her immobile and when her body tightened before jerking in short spasms, there was nowhere to go. He followed her, his forehead falling to the hollow of her throat.

In the immediate aftermath, they stayed still. The only motion between them was his forehead rolling in a slow cadence against her. She could feel his sweat transferring onto her skin as he moved. Most of his weight had fallen onto her, keeping her elevated against the wall. One of her legs slid from his hip, her toes pointed in a blind search for the carpet.

He alleviated the onus of his weight, allowing her to land on her own shaky legs. In a rustle that was thunderous in the quiet room, her dress fell to her feet. She was grateful because the dress then covered the telling evidence of her half-discarded underwear, which was still around her ankle and shoe like a diaphanous manacle.

While he had moved away just enough to let her stand, his body was still close, his hands on her hair as he smoothed down the wayward tendrils. "I'm sorry," he finally said, his mouth tightening around the corners as he stared at the top of her head, his eyes clearing into a dark blue. The sprig of flowers was now half in her hair and half dangling off, as if unsure whether or not to abandon ship. He fingered the plastic buds gently. "I didn't want it to be like that. Not the first time anyway."

She gave him a shaky smile. "Like what?" she asked, her voice a hushed murmur. "Perfect?"

He laughed softly and kissed her cheek, the gesture so reverent and chaste, she almost cried. It could have been a mockery seeing as how it was completely incongruent with what they'd engaged in…and against a wall no less. Yet somehow, between them, she could only see it as a compliment.

_And a freight train running through the middle of my head_

Now she wasn't sure what to do. There was an entire reception they'd left behind. A best man and a bridesmaid, while not the main focus, were of sufficient notoriety to invite notice of their absence. There was also the fact that Mark hadn't invited her to stay, nor was she sure she wanted to. She wasn't up to sitting around chatting. Her nervous system was shot to hell and all she wanted to do was lie down and relive every bit of it while she figured out how to breathe again.

Before she could say anything, he took her hand and led her further into the room. Though it was a different than the one he'd rented before, it was cookie-cutter enough to bring back memories. She smiled as she imagined herself a few months ago, stripping and throwing him down on the mattress. If the waiting was a prerequisite for what had just transpired, it had been worth it and much more.

He stopped at the foot of the bed, bringing her in front of him. His hands floated above her shoulders before changing tracks and moving toward her hair. They hovered there for a moment, as if unsure where to start. Uncharacteristically indecisive, his hands faltered and failed before falling to his sides.

"Are you just going to look at me?" she asked, laughing to alleviate the sudden sobriety thickening the room. The noise broke halfway through, leaving her nothing to hide behind.

"I'm afraid I'm going to break you," he finally said.

She smiled, finding the declaration silly in light of what they had already shared, but he didn't join her, his eyes roaming over her as if he'd never seen her before. She shifted uneasily under his scrutiny and looked past his shoulder to the mirror in the foyer. Most of her skin looked frighteningly pale, almost translucent. By contrast, her eyes were huge, their normal hazel color so dark her pupils were swallowed. His scruff had burned her, leaving patches of red across her face and neck. Strangely, she couldn't feel the irritation or the swelling of her bruised mouth. Despite what the mirror was telling her, the only part of her that ached as evidence was covered by her dress.

She flicked her eyes back on him, suddenly desperate to be touched. Goosebumps broke out on the flesh of her arms. "So break me."

At her words, his arms went around her in halo that never actually touched her. His chin aligned above her shoulder as he peered over at the back of her dress, his breath warming her skin. His fingers found the zipper of her dress and pulled down, all without brushing against her skin. She shivered as the material sluiced down her form and puddled near her feet.

She was about to toe her shoes off and step outside the ring of her dress when he lowered himself onto one knee and reached for her feet. Shock froze her and she stared down at the top of his head, which she realized oddly, she'd never seen before. His gesture was so humbling, part of her wanted to stop him, tell him it wasn't necessary. But the embrace of his long fingers around her ankle was so tender, she realized that perhaps the gesture wasn't entirely for her. It echoed of the kiss he'd pressed on her cheek moments before.

Swallowing, she stepped out of one shoe and then the other, her arm resting on his shoulder for balance. It was only when he stood, slowly rolling up to his full height that she realized she was naked while he was completely dressed. Without her heels, she was only level with the knot of his tie.

He stood before her, saying nothing just long enough for her to grow self-conscious. Shifting her weight between her bare feet, she could only bring her gaze as far up as his chin. "You could say something," she suggested helpfully, her cheeks flaming with something that had nothing to do with whisker burn.

"Lexie," he breathed once, twice, before finally drawing her against him, his arms wrapping around her small frame.

The texture of his suit was rough against her sensitized skin as he lowered her to the bedspread. Her palms slid under the lapels of his jacket and pushed it off. By the time he'd finished undressing, Lexie had had time to realize something she'd missed in the rushed voracity of the first time.

There was nothing wrong with her. George may have left her, but the loss had been his own. And the gain, she thought as Mark pulled her closer, the gain was hers.

_Only you, can cool my desire_

_O-o-oh I'm on fire_

**AN: Please review! **

"**I'm on Fire" is written and performed by Bruce Springsteen.**


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